


Ser Cullen and The Dragon

by PrecariousSauce



Series: Thunderstorm Fire-Thrower [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Shameless Sappiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrecariousSauce/pseuds/PrecariousSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was named for strength, but learned weakness. He's everything she's convinced herself not to hope for. But she hopes all the same. </p><p>The romance path as experienced by a fearful Vashoth and a knight whose eyes are opening slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit this here: This is a VERY self-indulgent project, born out of impotent frustration that I can't romance Cullen with a Qunari. And I'll say this also: When I say this is 'the romance path', that is exactly what I mean. Basically, since I can't program, this is my version of making a mod where you can romance Cullen as a Qunari. So while I am trying to make this story mine and make it as much about the two of them as characters as well as a couple, this won't deviate too far from the romance you know. If this isn't your cup of tea, then I totally understand.

Herah Adaar remembered the tales her Tamassrans would tell her very well. Which she supposed meant they were successful– nothing in Qunari society came without a higher purpose, and these tales were no exception. They were all of Ashkaari spreading the Qun, or soldiers subjugating those who struggled against their tide. They were meant to be told over and over, so that the virtues of the Qun could be etched forevermore into the hearts of the Imekaari.

She’d heard that mothers outside the Qun told their children the stories they’d heard as little girls. Herah knew that if she wanted her daughter to grow up strong and free, she could not follow that example.

So instead, the Tal-Vashoth mother found books of Thedosian stories through her merchant connections, who were all too happy to sell to her; she knew as well as they did that books were deceptively hard to turn a profit on (and even harder to sell when half your customer base were too scared to come close to you). She read through them carefully, almost neurotically, as she looked for anything that might be unsuitable for a child– for _her_ child. Shokrakar would say through a laugh that she was overthinking it, but Kost never did. He understood. She wouldn’t be married to him if he didn’t.

When the time was right, when everything was planned perfectly, Herah slipped into the wagon and smiled at her little Asaaranda. The Imekaari of three years looked up from the small wooden horse in her hands (carved by Katoh, one of the first gifts Asaaranda had ever received), and beamed back. Perhaps she should have named her daughter for the sun instead of a storm, considering how bright her smile seemed against the lamplight. 

Herah moved to her daughter’s side and curled up beside her under the simple blanket; “It’s _very_ late. Are you tired, Kadan?” Asaaranda shook her head, but let out a loud yawn. Herah couldn’t keep down a laugh. The Imekaari pouted up at her in the ridiculous pantomime of displeasure only children could achieve.

“Little girls must get to sleep at this hour if they want to grow,” Herah remarked, “Shall I read to you, Kadan?”

Asaaranda’s eyes lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically. The Tal-Vashoth woman ruffled the stubs of her daughter’s horns. Kost read to Asaaranda all the time to help her learn to read Common– not stories like the ones in the book she held, but Asaaranda still watched with rapt awe as her father read her even the simplest of letters.

The Imekaari’s wide eyes stared expectantly up at her; “What’re we gonna read, Tama?” 

“A story,” Herah replied, opening the book to its first page, “I think you’ll like it very much, Asaaranda.” The young Vashoth cuddled closer to her mother’s side, her orange eyes stuck to the beautiful illustration of a knight in armor and a fair princess embracing.

“It’s about humans?” Asaaranda asked. 

Herah paused, white brows furrowing; “… Yes, Kadan. This is a story about humans.” Odd. Herah wasn’t surprised when she’d found not a single story featuring her kind. But she hadn’t expected Asaaranda to even notice.

So she turned the page, and began to read; “ _Once upon a time, a knight was riding through a land far from his home. It was a vast desert, with only a single river cutting through it. The people of this land made their homes along its lush banks. Far and wide the knight saw that the people were frightened, tired, and barely even looked at the foreign man in their home they were so weighed down by their own troubles. So he stopped a poor hermit, and asked him,_ Good man, tell me: what ill has befallen this place?

“ _The hermit looked up at the knight sad eyes, ringed with deep shadow._ Our land has long been ravaged by a great dragon, _said the old man,_ Every day he demands the sacrifice of a beautiful maiden. We have given him our daughters, wives, sisters, and now only the daughter of the King remains. Unless the beast is slain, we will have no choice but to send her to him tomorrow.

“ _The knight, determined to save the princess, asked where the dragon made its lair. The hermit told him that the dragon lived in a deep valley, several miles due East from the town. Without another word the knight spurred his horse, and set out for the valley. The ride was long, and he reached the valley by sunrise the next morning. At the mouth of the valley was a procession of women, all dressed in fine white silk. The knight stopped and asked,_ Why have you come to this valley, this place of death?

“ _They replied,_ We were the handmaidens of the Princess. Now, she goes to face the dragon, and give us all one more night. _The knight leapt from his horse and charged into the valley. He found the princess– younger and more beautiful than any of her handmaidens– at the mouth of a cave as the high dragon opened its fearsome maw._ ”

Asaaranda let out a small whimper. Herah looked down immediately, and saw her daughter’s eyes glued to the illustration. Her white brows were drawn together, making far too deep a line between them on her little face. Little teeth gnawed on her lower lip. Her hands clutched Herah’s tunic with a grip stronger than iron.

Slowly, Herah’s eyes moved to the illustration. The knight, a handsome human with golden hair and shining silver armor, stood between the princess and the dragon with his sword drawn to slay the beast. The princess was small, delicate, human– only her brown hair and silks marked her as ‘foreign’. But they didn’t matter. What mattered was the dragon. Its scales were stormy grey. It had a mane of white hair along its neck. Its horns curled like those of a ram– no. Like Herah’s own horns. And its eyes glowed orange.

Her hand moved to stroke Asaaranda’s hair, and she leaned down, purple eyes full of regret; “Do you want me to stop reading, Kadan?”

Immediately the Imekaari shook her head; “No. I wanna know what happens.”

Herah paused; maybe Asaaranda did see herself in the dragon, like Herah could see. Maybe she saw, but she was too young to really understand. Maybe all she was seeing was a knight protecting a princess from a monster, and was worried the knight might not survive.

Either way, her child wanted to know the ending.

With trembling fingers she turned the page; “ _The knight put himself between the dragon and the princess, and the dragon roared with a sound louder than thunder. It was a huge beast, as long as ten of him lying end to end. But the knight was not afraid. He struck the dragon with his sword, but the sword wasn’t strong enough to pierce the beast’s scales._

“ _The knight rolled to avoid a blast of fire from the dragon’s mouth, and when he came to rest, he saw the flesh under the dragon’s wing was unarmored. There was his chance! Dodging fire and claw, the knight rushed the beast and thrust his sword into the weak spot. It fell dead at his feet. The knight and the princess returned to the king, who offered the princess’ hand in marriage to the knight as a reward for his service to the kingdom and his daughter. The knight accepted, and he and the princess lived happily ever after._ ”

Herah looked down at Asaaranda again. The little Vashoth was smiling down at the picture of the knight and princess embraced. Maybe Asaaranda had seen herself in the princess. Maybe she’d worried over nothing. Herah kissed her daughter on the head, bade her good night, and tucked the blanket around her. But as she snuffed the lantern and crept out of the wagon, she paused.

Herah opened the book again. She looked at the dragon for a long time. But she also looked at the princess. She marveled again at how small human women were, how soft and fragile. She thought of how Asaaranda would grow to be tall, robust, strong.

She looked up at the moon.

Maybe Herah could look for new stories to tell her.

* * *

Asaaranda liked the stories about knights slaying dragons and rescuing princesses, and begged her mother to read more of them. Herah did, with her brow furrowed and eyes full of worry. Asaaranda would grin wide and giggle at scenes of romance. But nothing could keep her from looking sad when the dragon was killed.

She worried more when Asaaranda developed her magic, at the unfortunate age of six. She had to tell her true tales– of Templars and Circles, of Qunari and Saarebas– if she wanted her daughter to survive. Herah remembered how Asaaranda would run with the precious few other Imekaari Valo-kas had, climb and fall off of high things, laugh loud and long, wander off and scare her half to death simply because she saw a pretty bird. That disappeared with every word she spoke as she told her of the branded humans and elves who floated through a colorless life, and the reason why Taarlok never spoke was because the Qun demanded speech be taken from him.

A deep crease formed between Herah's brows as she watched Asaaranda grow. She watched her daughter's posture go from straight and assured to constantly slumped, constantly curled around herself like armor made from her own back. She watched her daughter's eyes follow small, dainty human and elven women, then lock on her own feet. She watched Asaaranda on long caravan rides through lands where her staff couldn't be hidden as a walking stick flip through the pages of her old storybook, and smile like she didn't know what it had done to her.

Most likely, she didn't. And Herah regretted that the most.

Kost had wanted to name Asaaranda "Asala". Because she was everything to him. But they agreed it would be too much to put on one little girl.

Herah chose the name "Asaaranda" because she wanted her daughter to be strong, brave, unashamed. Everything she'd need to be in this world that feared her.

Herah watched her daughter, a young woman now but her weak stance making her still so much like a little girl, tense up as Shokrakar assigned her as part of the security detail for the Conclave. Watched her ask Shokrakar if she was serious, if she was really going to send her to a place full of Templars. Watched Asaaranda accept the assignment anyway, but take several hours to learn how to breath again.

_I'm sorry, Kadan. I've failed you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I came up with my Adaar's relationship to Valo-kas before I played the game. So, basically, in my fanon she was raised by and worked with Valo-kas her whole life.
> 
> 2) Asaaranda- as far as the wiki tells me- is the Qunlat word for "thunderstorm". And I thought it'd be a bit amusing if her mother had the default female Adaar name. Her father's name, "Kost", means "peace".
> 
> 3) As the title may have tipped you off, the story Herah read is an adapted and simplified version of "Saint George and the Dragon". I basically took out any references to the real world and religion, since honestly they don't really matter here.
> 
> 4) Shipping will come very soon. Just gotta get y'all acquainted with who you're gonna be following first.


	2. Chapter 2

Asaaranda hadn’t really gotten a good look at Cullen when she’d seen him on the field. As he’d said, it _was_ only for a moment. She’d been mired in a haze of fear, focused on following the Seeker’s lead and trying to keep her head above water. Cullen had just been another human in armor, another unfamiliar face.

Now… the Vashoth woman was almost glad he was so preoccupied arguing with Leliana (though this was the most polite argument she’d ever seen– Shokrakar usually would have decked someone by this point), because she could do little else _but_ get a good look at him.

There were no two ways about it, he was handsome. Asaaranda had seen a lot of humans, a lot of soldiers, a lot of men. It was just a part of being a mercenary. But she had _never_ seen a man like him. Not in real life. She’d seen men like him in paintings, illustrations, dreams she’d only maybe whispered to Hissra about, but… They were nothing compared to real thing. The scar on his lip didn’t ruin the image. It only made it more real.

But it was more than his looks– _he_ was more. He stood tall and proud, carried himself like someone who knew his path. He wasn’t the same kind of commander as Shokrakar. He didn’t seem like a firebrand, a leader who bonded with his men by getting drunk and getting into fist fights with them. He was quiet. He felt stable, guiding, anchoring. He almost reminded her of her father, a shard of peace scattered with the fragments of chaos.

Cullen’s eyes suddenly flickered to her, and she immediately looked back down at the map, pretending like she understood what these pieces meant and was considering large important Herald of Andraste Things and her face wasn’t turning an ungainly shade of taupe.

She scratched the base of her left horn, but paused. She gingerly traced the curve of her horn with her fingertips. Then she took her hand away and gripped the edge of the War Table, tight enough to turn her knuckles the same silver as the scars on her face.

* * *

Cullen knew what he’d expected when he heard the prisoner was a Qunari mage. Horns broken at the base, tiny needle scars around their mouth, an almost animalistic slouch from a life of wearing heavy pauldrons and chains. Perhaps, if they were particularly unlucky, no tongue.

He’d only gotten the slouch right.

He watched the Herald from the corner of his eye as she spoke with Cassandra; she behaved very much like any human or elven apostate. She walked with a limp, but anyone who looked for longer than a moment could see it was false, just meant to justify the focus she held to passers-by. She leaned heavily on her staff, clutching it close to her chest and hiding part of her face behind it. He could hear Cassandra decently well above the cacophony of the training yard, but Adaar’s voice was so soft he could only barely hear it between the clashing of swords and clatter of shields.

As he called to a recruit to actually _use_ his shield and told the Lieutenant not to hold back, he could hear Adaar’s irregular footsteps and the regular beat of her staff crunching through the snow towards the commander. When Cullen turned to face her, the Qunari was already looming over him. It would take a while to get used to how even with her terrible posture the woman towered over just about everyone in Haven.

“We’ve received a number of recruits– locals from Haven and some pilgrims,” Cullen remarked, light brown eyes meeting her burnt orange ones, “None made _quite_ the entrance you did.”

She shrugged, shoulders and smile tense and tight as she said around a nervous laugh, “A-at least I got everyone’s attention.” Adaar’s eyes dropped to the snow as she tucked a lock of white hair behind her ear, her smile falling as quickly as it rose.

“That you did,” he replied, walking through the training ground with Adaar keeping pace, “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising– I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.”

Adaar flinched quite visibly as a scout cut in, eyes darting around like a hummingbird at the piercing call of “Ser!”, but Cullen took the report without a thought and continued, “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered a position, I left the Templars to join her cause.”

Cullen almost didn’t hear the Qunari whisper “Templars…” under her breath. She drew her staff closer to her chest, and he sighed, “Now it seems we face something far worse…”

Adaar took her right hand from her staff to rub the back of her left, muttering, “The Conclave destroyed, a giant hole in the sky–“ she met his eyes again, a frown leaving deep furrows on her face– “Things… aren’t looking good.”

“Which is why we’re needed,” he stated, “The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can–“ He stopped himself. She was staring at him either blankly or with rapt attention. It was still difficult to read her, still hard to see past the horns and grey skin.

He let out a soft laugh through his nose; “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

Adaar smiled and leaned into her staff, replying around a soft laugh of her own, “W-well no, but if you have one prepared I’d love to hear it.”

Cullen chuckled; “Another time, perhaps.”

Adaar smiled at him for a moment more before seemingly catching herself, her eyes dropping to her feet again as she hid as much of her face as she could behind her staff. Her shoulders bunched in tight, a curtain of white hair falling over her shoulder as she turned away from him. 

Cullen stared at her for a moment, eyebrow quirked slightly. He found it difficult to wrap his head around this tall, imposing woman hiding so timidly behind her staff. He thought back to the Arishok, to the Qunari soldiers patrolling the compound in Kirkwall. He knew she didn’t follow the Qun, but she didn’t even feel like the same _species_ as those creatures. She felt like a wolf that had been raised by rabbits.

He cleared his throat, bringing them both back into the moment; “There’s still a lot of work ahead.”

Yet another scout materialized from nowhere and cut in; “Commander! Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.”

Cullen grinned up at her as he took the report; “As I was saying.”

He spared one last glance over his shoulder as he walked away. Adaar’s head was still facing the ground, but she was watching him through the veil of her hair.

The Commander shook his head, eyes moving back to the report; _What an odd woman._

* * *

Asaaranda never for a moment thought she could save the world.

With every step through the Hinterlands as she went to root out violent templars and apostates, with every moment she spent looking for the lost scouts in the Fallow Mire, with every second that went by in Redcliffe Castle, for every time she raised her hand to close a Rift– and then _the_ Rift– she was thinking of how she could mess this up, how everything could go wrong and collapse and leave everyone doomed. 

So, honestly, she wasn’t as surprised as she should have been when the Red Templars descended on Haven. Scared? Of course. A tad bit guilty for not going to the Templars? Always. But not surprised.

The dragon, she didn’t expect. 

 _That_ was the surprise that sent her sprinting back through Haven’s gates, left her barely hearing anything Cullen said and thinking only _holy shit holy shit HOLY SHIT_ as she scrambled to the Chantry. It was only Cassandra’s commanding voice that brought her back in time to save some of their people.

The Vashoth mage tripped on her own feet as she finally crossed the Chantry’s threshold, and would have fallen on her face if not for the strange boy in the even stranger hat catching her arm. She smiled at him, but her thanks just missed him as Cole moved past her, his attentions on…

Chancellor Roderick.

Asaaranda put a hand to her mouth as she whispered, “Oh _no_.” The elder cleric was bruised, battered, looked to be in a daze of pain. His legs were losing their strength– likely if Cole wasn’t supporting him, he wouldn’t be able to stand. His hand clutched at his side, and blood stained the white parts of his Chantry robes a deep crimson. She bit her lip. The man had been a thorn in the Inquisition’s side, but…

She heard Cole speak up; “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

Asaaranda would never have wished that on him.

“Herald!” she turned to Cullen, ambling to meet him halfway as he ran to her. He looked as ruffled as all of them, but he’d steeled himself, and his mind was still working quickly. She needed him more than anyone else right now. 

The commander frowned and said, “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an Archdemon,” Cole remarked, bringing both Cullen and Asaaranda’s eyes to him, “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen snarled, “It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

Cole shook his head; “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” 

Asaaranda furrowed her brow; “W-what? Why– Why does he want _me?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Cole replied, “He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like–?!” Cullen sputtered, but stopped himself, brought himself back.

He turned back to Asaaranda; “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

The Vashoth mage stood up stock straight and exclaimed, “You– y-you’re not serious, are you?! If we did that we’d bury Haven we’d _kill_ everyone we– we _CAN’T–_ ”

Cullen cut her off, voice clear and strong; “We’re dying, but we can choose how. Many don’t get that choice.”

Asaaranda frantically shook her head, tears welling in her eyes, gripping her staff in one hand so tightly she thought she’d splinter it. Her other hand flew to her mouth as she stammered half-words and simple whispered utterances of _no_. She was trembling out of control as she listened to the people just a few yards away. She could see them all buried under the stone and snow and felt the bile rise up in her throat. She couldn’t do this. They had to live. Her eyes darted up to Cullen, over to Cole.

 _They_ had to live.

And then, Cole’s voice broke through the fog of panic; “Yes, that! Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Asaaranda slowly turned to the chancellor, who rasped, “There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have.” 

The cleric tried to stand despite the weakness of his legs, and continued, “The people _can_ escape. She must have shown me… _Andraste_ must have shown me so I could…” his dimming eyes met hers, “tell you.”

Asaaranda turned to Cullen, eyes alight; “Will it _work_ , Cullen?”

He nodded; “Possibly, _if_ he shows us the path. But what of your escape?”

She paused. She turned towards the door.

Her fingers trembled on her staff. She’d read this story. She knew how this ended. She would walk out of this Chantry and never come back in. Her stomach twisted, she could feel herself breaking out in a cold sweat, and tears were pricking the corner of her eyes. But she closed them, and saw Cullen broken and buried beneath ice and rubble.

She opened her eyes.

It wasn’t even a choice.

She smiled softly at Cullen over her shoulder before turning back to the door; she wasn't very good at saying 'goodbye'. She stood with her back straight and her staff hanging at her side. Her hands still trembled and she still tasted the bile on the back of her tongue. But that wouldn't stop her. For the first time, she believed that maybe she really was the hero.

Asaaranda heard Cullen behind her, his voice coated in a desperate hope she’d never expected from the practical commander; “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…”

He didn’t stay much longer, rushing towards the back of the Chantry and rallying the Inquisition to follow the dying Chancellor. 

The Chancellor’s final words to her rang in Asaaranda’s head as she opened the door:

_“Herald… if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.”_


	3. Chapter 3

The cold wind felt sharp enough to cut on Cullen’s face as he and Cassandra trudged up the hill. The snow went up past their ankles, and he remembered from the trek here that it would only get deeper the further up they went. Cassandra was a few paces behind him; he could feel her eyes boring into his back, and almost see the soft frown on her face.

He knew she hoped Adaar was safe. But he also knew she was thinking far more realistically than he was, and had declared her dead already. She was just here to make sure Cullen didn’t drag them too far from camp.

Cullen grit his teeth to keep them from chattering. His mind kept going back to the avalanche thundering down on Haven, to Dorian, Bull and Varric meeting the Inquisition without Adaar, to looking over his shoulder when he should have been looking at the Chancellor and Cole leading the way. 

He thought back to Adaar– no, _Asaaranda_ , smiling once over her shoulder before standing tall and walking with no limp through the doors of the Chantry.

_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

He mouthed the familiar words and willed them to be true for her. They’d seen the dragon fly away, the Elder One with it. His heart and gut told him that if that _thing_ had escaped, she had to have made it out too. Because if the Elder One still lived, then they could not go on without her.

Because it just felt _wrong_. She couldn’t have died _now_. Not yet. _Not yet._

He paused just below the crest of the hill, hand moving to the rocks at his side. He’d intended to stop for just a moment, only to catch his breath before moving into the deeper snow. But through the snow, through the wind and mist, he saw something.

A bright green light. 

He blinked rapidly, rubbed at his eyes, but the light didn’t disappear. It grew steadily brighter, and the shadow behind it grew more and more defined. Cassandra caught up to him then, eyes flickering between him and where he stared ahead. The wind stung his eyes, but he couldn’t close them. Not yet.

“Commander?” Cassandra asked, eyes wider than his.

His voice came out in a whisper; “I… I think it’s…”

Then, the shadow came just close enough.

He saw a figure dragging themselves forwards with a staff, their left hand blazing green…

And a pair of curling horns on their head.

His heart started beating again and he called, “There! It’s her!”

Cassandra’s face broke out into a grin; “Thank the Maker!”

The two humans stumbled through the snow, making it just as Asaaranda’s grip on her staff failed her and she fell first to her knees, then onto her face. Cassandra and Cullen each took an arm around their shoulders, the Qunari’s head lolling into the crook of Cullen’s neck. He heard her breath against his ear, the sound shallow and shaking but _there_. She was unconscious. But she was alive. The commander looked to Cassandra. Maybe it was the wind, maybe it was more, but there were tears in the corners of the Seeker’s eyes.

She whispered the Chant all the way back to the camp.

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder._

* * *

Asaaranda stood in the main hall long after Cullen, Josephine and Leliana had left. She was Inquisitor now, she had things to do, but…

She took a deep breath and leaned on her staff, closing her eyes. A smile spread across her face. 

_Inquisitor Adaar._

She had worried as she always did the moment she awoke in the Inquisition camp. The hymn brought her out of it for a moment, but Solas’ warning about the orb brought her back. And even as they followed her and found Skyhold, Asaaranda wondered what would become of her. Certainly there was Corypheus, but the Breach was sealed. Her job was done. Surely she should just be a Qunari Apostate again.

But then Cassandra and Leliana presented her with the ornamental sword. She’d taken the blade and looked out over the faces of the people. They looked back up at her, eyes full of light and smiles on their faces so full of hope, adoration, like they were looking upon Andraste herself. She would certainly worry later. She always did. But for now she would just remember that moment, bask in the feeling of everyone believing in her, the feeling that she was worth so much more. 

Asaaranda opened her eyes. She should make her way around Skyhold, check on everyone. She hadn’t had much time to really speak to her people since Haven. She needed to see how they were holding up. It could also help her learn the layout of the castle– it wouldn’t do to have the Inquisitor constantly getting lost in her own stronghold.

She paused again at the doorway, letting out a giggle. _Her_ stronghold. 

Asaaranda half-expected to wake up any second now. She absolutely didn’t want to.

The Vashoth mage loped down the stairs, making her way to the lower level of the courtyard and trying to shake her limp. She stopped halfway down the steps. Cullen had already set himself up a makeshift command center at the base of the stairs, directing the soldiers to their tasks. She hugged her staff tight to her chest, heart fluttering as she listened to him give orders. 

The young woman suddenly remembered where she was and _who_ she was and shook her head; this was ridiculous. He was her colleague now, she should just approach him, normal as anything, and ask how setting up is coming along. With a resolute nod, Asaaranda made her way to the bottom of the stairs (nearly tripping a few times, but thankfully nobody was looking… she hoped). 

Cullen’s voice became clearer and clearer as she approached; “Send men to scout the area. We need to know what’s out there.” With a quick, professional “Yes, Ser!”, the foot soldiers trotted away, and another replaced them just as quickly. 

Asaaranda hung back as the soldier made his report, was given his order, and followed it in a far less than timely fashion. When she was reasonably certain no more soldiers were going to appear from thin air, she ambled up to the Commander. But when she was a few feet away, her throat suddenly felt very dry– wait, how does an Inquisitor even _ask_ the commander of her army how things are going? She nearly stopped in her tracks, eyes going wide. Oh _fuck_ she had an _army_.

Thankfully, Cullen noticed her first.

He stood at his full height, just barely reaching her shoulder, as he said, “We set up as best we could at Haven, but we could never prepare for an Archdemon–“ he rubbed the back of his neck, frowning, “Or _whatever_ it was. With some warning, we might have…”

Asaaranda grimaced, grip instinctively tightening on her staff; “Well, it was just a bad situation all around. I don’t think there was anything more we could’ve done…” she smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring, “I mean, I think we did pretty alright, considering.”

He gave her a ghost of a smile before remarking, “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw…” He leaned over his ramshackle desk, brows furrowed and mouth set in a determined line, “And I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week.”

He turned to face her, eyes meeting hers; “We will not run from here, Inquisitor.” Asaaranda nodded, more to herself than to him as he turned his gaze back to his work. But she remembered… she had to ask.

She pursed her lips, then murmured, “H-how many… How many did we lose at Haven?”

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse,” he replied, turning to her again. “Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

There it was again. She smiled wryly, eyes drifting up the stone walls of Skyhold as she mused, “Inquisitor Adaar… It sounds odd, don’t you think?”

Cullen smiled and shook his head; “Not at all.”

Asaaranda snickered on reflex, the sound warbling from nerves, and asked, “Is that the ‘official’ response?”

Cullen laughed slightly as he stood up straight, arm resting on the hilt of his sword; “I suppose it is. But it’s the truth. We needed a leader; _you_ have proven yourself.” Asaaranda could feel her cheeks heating up and her forehead brushing the top of her staff.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she murmured. He smiled back up at her, and her heart skipped a beat. She’d never prayed at a Chantry even once in her life, but all she could think was _oh, Maker_ …

She heard herself speaking, and only managed to catch herself halfway through; “H-haven was… It was a really close call. I-I’m just glad you–“ _fuck’s sake Asaaranda what are you saying?!_ “Th-that _so many_ made it out.”

Asaaranda nearly buried her face in her staff, cheeks on fire, but all Cullen said was, “As am I.” She could barely hear a thing over her own head screaming at her. The Vashoth mage shuffled around and started her limp away…

The commander touched her arm, and she froze. Her blush spread to her ears as she heard him murmur, “You stayed behind. You could have–“

Asaaranda slowly turned to see Cullen staring determinedly back up at her; “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

All she could do was give him a dumb, mute nod.

He moved back to his duties, but Asaaranda was certain she couldn’t move if she tried. Now she fully expected to wake up any moment. Did that… _actually_ happen? She was probably making more of it than it was, but no matter what she tried to say to herself her face was still a dusty purple and her legs felt like they’d been turned into mudfish.

A question popped into her mind. She’d meant to ask in Haven– actually, why lie? No she hadn’t. She’d meant to mean to ask, and then never ask because the answer would probably upset her. Maybe now the answer would shock her back to the real world. Maybe it would let her keep this dream going for a few moments longer. Either way, she couldn’t move. So…

Asaaranda quickly looked up from her feet and blurted out, “C-cullen? I-I’ve– I have one last question, k-kinda off topic but…”

He looked back up, an eyebrow raised slightly– not in condescension, just curiosity; “Yes?”

She shook all over as she forced herself to continue; “Did you… uhr… leave anyone behind when you left Kirkwall?”

He frowned slightly; “No. I fear I made few friends there, and my family’s in Ferelden.”

Asaaranda’s stomach was in several dozen knots now; “N-nobody… There was nobody… special?”

Cullen just smiled at her; “Not in Kirkwall.”

She barely even got out a goodbye, she turned and shuffled off so quickly. That was it. Asaaranda Adaar was officially dreaming, and anyone who woke her up would live to regret it.


	4. Chapter 4

Asaaranda’s father rarely spoke about his life before leaving the Qun. Every time she had asked him, his answers were monosyllabic and vague, but his eyes looked straight through her. However, when she had asked him _why_ he’d left the Qun, he was quiet for a while. His hands had briefly drifted to the cracked stumps of his horns, and he pursed his lips as he thought of a response.

Then, he’d looked down at her, and said, “Kadan, Qunari are Templars, and the Qun is their Lyrium. It gives them brittle strength that roots them and ruins them. Both face great danger in leaving. But no matter the danger, Kadan, I knew it would be even more dangerous if I _didn’t_ leave.”

Back then, Asaaranda had thought she’d understood her father’s words.

But as Cullen told her of how he was no longer taking Lyrium, she realized she hadn’t understood at all. And that her father was more right than perhaps even he had known. As the commander spoke he had that same far away look in his eyes her mother got when she brushed too close to her life under the Qun, the same tone of tired and strained determination as her father had when he answered her questions simply with the word “Seheron”. 

As Cullen told her of Templars cut off from Lyrium falling into madness or dying, she felt her mind drifting back to tales told in a weary, pained voice of Tal-Vashoth in the jungles descending into savagery without the Qun, losing everything they were because they had forgotten there _was_ anything before the Qun had been etched into their bones.

She returned to the moment, and brought her staff close to her chest as she said, “Cullen, i-if this can _kill_ you–“

He cut her off without looking up from the box on his desk; “It hasn’t yet. After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t…” 

He stood to his full height and met her gaze, his eyes steady and burning with purpose, “I will not be bound to the order– or that life– any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty."

The Vashoth woman bit her lip, fingers ghosting over the grip of her staff as she asked, “Are you alright? I– I mean, are you in any pain?”

“I can endure it,” he replied. A small frown tugged at the corner of Asaaranda’s mouth. That wasn’t an answer… but in that way, it was.

She tried to brush it off, smiling as she said, “Thank you for telling me. I… respect what you’re doing, for all that’s worth.”

Cullen gave her a brief smile; “Thank you, Inquisitor. It’s worth more than you know,” his smile fell, “The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. Should anything happen…” his eyes drifted towards the floor, “I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment.”

Asaaranda was only there for a brief minute more, but she paused after leaving the tower and closing the door behind her. Her fingers rested on the wood, and she could feel her gut twisting and turning at all the worst case scenarios she could imagine.

She brought her hand back to her staff and held her head high as she walked across the battlements. He would be alright. If people like her father could break their chains and come out stronger, Cullen could too.

* * *

Out of every space in Skyhold, Cullen found he liked the War Room the best. Even when Asaaranda, Leliana and Josephine all were there with him– a whole host of powerful women discussing the fate of the world– the room had a sense of quiet to it. He liked coming here first thing in the morning, appreciating the stillness before Josephine would come trotting in, Leliana gliding on her heels and Asaaranda limping several paces behind.

So, this morning, his hand went to his sword the moment he opened the door.

Because in this silent room, he heard a sound.

He’d heard… Snoring?

The commander blinked the caution away, confusion replacing it. His eyes drifted around the room– he couldn’t see the snoring intruder, not immediately. He found them just as he was starting to recognize the voice. There were five grey toes poking out shyly around the war table’s base. Cullen’s brow slowly arched as he walked across the room and around the table.

Sprawled out on the floor in a simple tunic and pair of breeches was Asaaranda Adaar. 

The Inquisitor’s white hair fanned out around her head like the sun’s rays as she snored (it was probably the loudest sound he’d heard her make off the battlefield), her limbs splayed every which way. Cullen could tell from the angle she was lying at, the position of her feet, and the small chip on one of her horns that she’d quite literally _fallen_ asleep at the War Table.

He couldn’t help a small, wry chuckle- at least she hadn’t fallen _forwards_. 

Cullen knelt down by her side, at first only hoping to nudge her awake. But he paused. She looked so different in sleep, he almost didn’t recognize her. Her face was slack, relaxed, mouth hanging open and eyes still beneath their lids. Her head had turned just a bit– likely an instinctual reaction, sleeping on your horns didn’t seem pleasant– but beyond that it looked as if she hadn’t moved an inch since passing out.

Cullen's mouth drew into a soft frown– he’d thought himself better than all the people who’d sneered as Asaaranda passed and spat ‘oxman’ into Haven’s snow. But he realized now how even he had simply heard Cassandra say ‘Qunari’ and made up his mind about what she was. Now that sleep had smoothed them out Cullen could see the deep furrows of stress on her face, the constant crease between her eyebrows, the deep puce shadows beneath her eyes.

He saw something else, too.

Asaaranda was rather… pretty.

He wasn’t sure he could call her beautiful. Even if he could, it wouldn’t be appropriate. But she was an honest kind of pretty, like the serving girls in Skyhold who didn’t have time to notice their own looks, or the apprentices in Ferelden’s Circle who had stolen glances at him around tomes and giggled to each other whenever he dared to look back. Her features were long, noble, but ended in soft slopes instead of sharp edges. Her horns and scars along her left and right cheeks had their own kind of grace, coming together now simply as pieces of the whole.

Her eyelids creaked open.

Cullen realized then that he’d been looming over her; the commander quickly pulled back as the young woman’s eyes drifted to meet his own. They widened slowly.

“C-commander Cullen!” Her voice shattered the silence, and she shot up into a sitting position. Cullen tried to track her eyes as they darted around the room, but he couldn’t keep up with their breakneck pace.

They started to settle as she put a hand to her head and started muttering, “I-I think the sun was _just_ rising last I remember,” she sighed, and a tired smile crept onto her face, “Good. I wasn’t out that long.”

“Wait,” Cullen cut in, “Does that mean you were here all night?”

Asaaranda tensed up. Her right hand moved to hide as much of her face as she could. All the stress lines were back, but the shadows beneath her eyes seemed darker than ever. Or maybe it just felt that way because he was finally noticing them.

The Qunari’s surprisingly soft voice spilled out, “Not… _all_ night. But a few hours, I think. Not counting sleeping. I-I didn’t mean to…” 

She snorted with half a smile and whispered low enough that he knew he wasn’t supposed to hear it, “I messed up.”

Cullen’s face softened, and he let out a sigh; he’d seen this before. More in the Gallows than he had in Ferelden.

“Trying to stay out of the Fade?” He murmured. Asaaranda’s shoulders tensed further– he didn’t even know that was possible. She pressed her face further into her hand and drew her knees up to her chest– he could almost see the staff she wished she could hold in front of her. The anchor on her other hand usually barely glowed, but now its light was coming in irregular pulses, bright enough to leave spots in his vision.

Her voice came out in a torrent; “I-I know it’s _stupid_ I mean– _really_ stupid i-it doesn’t help at all makes it _worse_ b-but– But I don’t know what else to _do_ I’ve done it– d-done it since I was a kid so it’s even _stupider_ but– I– I don’t want–“

Cullen put a hand on her shoulder; “It’s alright, Asaaranda. I understand.”

The young Qunari stared down at him for a long while; Maker’s Breath even _sitting_ she was taller than he was. That, perhaps, would be harder to really get used to. The light of the early morning sun hit her hair, turning streaks of it a soft gold. It hit her cheeks, and he could see them fading into a dusty purple. It hit her eyes, and they were pure vermillion fire.

Something caught in his throat and he pushed it back down before he could let himself think about it. 

She smiled, small but not weighed down, pure; she laughed, “Is this the first time you’ve called me by my name to my face?”

He opened his mouth, and she cut in, “‘Adaar’ doesn’t count. That name I have to share.”

Cullen chuckled, “I suppose it is, then,” he looked her in the eye, “I won’t tell you to ‘just get some sleep’. I know it’s not that easy.”

She let out another laugh, but this one was raspy, rough and frayed at the edges; “Yeah, but… You all need me at my best.”

“More important than that,” Cullen cut in, “Is that you’re _well_. You matter a great deal to us.”

He squeezed her shoulder; “Don’t forget that.”

Asaaranda slowly took her hand off her face. Her blush was spreading to her ears now.

She smiled over at him again, bright, wide, but strained; “I’ll try. Thank you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen strode along the ramparts, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he looked down at the yard below. The wind brought the clamor of practice weapons up to his ears, and his eyes slowly swept over the people sparring or assaulting training dummies. He felt a small, fond smile creep onto his face– he couldn’t help but be proud of the people under his command, their diligence and–

A sharp grunt in a familiar voice brought him out of his reverie, and his eyes flickered over to the source. Someone very tall and very grey was relentlessly attacking a training dummy with a simple wooden staff, moving in dizzying circles around it. Too lean and the wrong kind of horns to be Iron Bull, so it could only be the Inquisitor.

From this height Asaaranda was a swirling blur of grey and brown, but she leapt back from the dummy and paused just long enough for Cullen to get a good look at her. Her white hair was tied back in a ramshackle bun and the only thing on her upper half were some wrappings for her breasts. His eyebrows shot up– her torso and arms were littered with scars and burns, old and new alike. The bluish tint of Asaaranda’s grey skin made her burns look almost purple. Even from this height he could see that her arms and stomach were far more muscular than he thought they'd be… He ignored the heat on his cheeks to the best of his ability. 

She leapt back in again, and this time Cullen could keep a better eye on her technique. She gripped the staff differently than when she was casting, keeping her hands low on the staff and both of her palms facing down. The staff whirled with her like it was a part of her body, following her graceful circular movements. Her footwork was dizzying, to the point where Cullen had to focus on her staff to keep from losing track of her. She carefully controlled her distance, making sure never to get closer than halfway down her staff to her target. The staff was never truly still, either spinning in her hands or slamming into her poor wooden opponent.

Every strike and thrust rattled the training dummy, threatening to knock its post out of the ground. He hadn’t realized Asaaranda had that much strength hiding beneath the surface– well, then again, he’d never seen her fighting at this close a range. And she _was_ Quna– _Tal-Vashoth_. He’d been working on correcting himself. Her people had a much higher threshold for physical strength.

It was difficult to really look at her face from this high up, but he could get glimpses. Her eyes smoldered and she kept her mouth in a tight line, the picture of focus and determination. Even from this far away he could see her mind working quickly, calculating the distance and how to strike next, imagining how a real opponent would react.

Cullen smirked slightly, feeling a sort of strange pride. Few mages _really_ knew how to fight at even as close a range as Asaaranda had, it was easy to get them penned in. She, however, knew how to get her range back.

Then suddenly she lunged forward and grabbed the training dummy’s head, engulfing the whole thing in her hand. An eruption of lightning burst from her palm, making a loud _ZAP!!!_ that turned all the heads on the training yard. Cullen’s jaw hit the floor. Asaaranda took her hand away, revealing the charred and smoking head of the training dummy. A piece of it crumbled off into ash while Asaaranda simply wiped her palm on her trousers.

She had _meant_ to be fighting close up. If that had been a human head… He was suddenly very grateful she was on their side.

* * *

The Vashoth had been admiring an Embrium flower in the garden when she heard it from the corner of her ear; “Gloat all you like, I have this one.”

Asaaranda turned to the gazebo and kicked herself for not noticing this before; after all, it was just about the last thing she'd expected to see. Dorian and Cullen were in the middle of the stone structure, a small table with a chess board between them. As she expected the commander was leaning over the board with an intense gaze, the very perfect picture of focus, while the mage was reclining in his seat with that familiar smirk.

She hobbled over, Dorian’s amused voice carrying on the wind to her ear; “Are you _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Cullen shook his head as he went to move a piece; “Why do I even–“ he caught sight of Asaaranda on the gazebo steps and stood up so fast he nearly knocked the table over; “Inquisitor!”

Dorian’s mouth stretched into a crooked grin; “Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” Cullen scowled at the mage and slowly sat back down.

A hand flew up to Asaaranda’s mouth as she giggled, “Are you two playing nice?”

Dorian shot her a smarmy grin; “I’m _always_ nice.”

He turned his face back to the board and his attention back to Cullen, moving a piece as he said, “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.”

Cullen smirked, making his move; “Really? Because I just won. And I feel fine.” Asaaranda looked down at the board with a quirked eyebrow– her knowledge of chess was limited, but from Dorian’s twitching eyebrow she could tell he’d been soundly beaten.

Dorian smoothly stood from his chair; “Don’t get smug. There will be no living with you.” He breezed past Asaaranda with a quick, knowing glance. She shot him a quick frown; of _course_ he was purposefully leaving her alone with Cullen. Next time she saw that mage she was going to trip him with her staff.

Cullen’s voice brought her back; “I should return to my duties as well…” he met Asaaranda’s eyes and gestured to the board, “Unless you would care for a game?”

Asaaranda blinked the surprise out of her eyes, then tentatively leaned her staff on a pillar and replied, “S-sure– I mean, prepare the board, Commander.”

As the Vashoth mage settled into her chair (a little tight for her frame), Cullen rearranged the pieces and remarked, “As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won– which was _all_ the time.”

He grinned at the board; “My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won…” he leaned back and his grin fell into a soft, contemplative look, “Between serving the templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays…”

Asaaranda cocked her head to the side in curiosity, white hair spilling over her shoulder; “You have siblings?”

“Two sisters and a brother,” Cullen replied.

Asaaranda leaned in, surveying the board; “Where are they now?”

As Asaaranda tentatively moved a piece, he answered, “They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should,” he noticed Asaaranda’s hands folded in her lap and muttered, “Ah, it’s my turn.”

The commander moved a mage and looked back up to her; “What about you, Inquisitor? Do _you_ have any siblings?”

Asaaranda opened her mouth, then shook her head and replied, “Well no, by blood I’m an only child. But there were a few other kids around my age in Valo-kas, and we grew up so close there as good as my brothers and sisters.”

Cullen blinked in surprise while Asaaranda moved a pawn; “Wait a moment– you were _raised_ by your mercenary company?”

She blinked back at him, uncomprehending; “Yeah?”

He shook his head, replying as he moved a piece, “It just seems a odd, raising your children in such a dangerous life.”

Asaaranda shrugged; “Well, none of our parents really had the money to retire and raise us somewhere safer. And there really _wasn’t_ a safer place for a young Qunari mage, so there was no choice for me _but_ to stay,” she smiled to herself, “And Hissra was kind of an odd case.”

Cullen quirked a brow; “How so?”

Asaaranda was grinning now, only barely remembering to make her move during her turn as she began, “Well, when I was only three years old we took a job smuggling this Qunari Tamassran– basically, they’re the ones who raise kids under the Qun– and all five of her kids out of Seheron. The kids were all about six, I think, and most of them just clung to the Tamassran the whole time. But one of them was Hissra, and she hung around Shokrakar the whole boat ride back to Rivain, talking her ear off and following her _everywhere_.”

She giggled, tucking loose hair behind her ear; “We were supposed to part ways with the Tamassran after we were sure she and her kids were safe in Llomerryn, but Hissra clung to Shokrakar’s leg and wouldn’t let go. She wanted to go with us, and nothing the Tamassran said or did changed her mind. So, she came with us. Shokrakar likes to give Hissra grief about it now that we’re older, but I think she’s glad Hissra came with us.”

Cullen let out a soft laugh; “Shokrakar seems like an interesting woman. The letters we’ve gotten from her certainly give that impression.”

Asaaranda nodded, remembering the game and moving a rook; “Yeah. She likes to act like he’s just some tough lady who only wants coin and a good fight, _but_ she’s not very good at it… Well, fighting she is good at. _Really_ good at.”

Cullen snorted; “Here’s hoping she and Iron Bull never cross paths, then. I don’t think Skyhold would survive.”

Asaaranda nodded with a giggle before turning back to the game. Their conversation flowed naturally, moving between Asaaranda’s amateur moves to who had trained Asaaranda in her close-quarters staff fighting to Cullen explaining a maneuver to her to the one time she’d convinced another band of mercenaries she was going to summon a demon army just by conjuring a wisp. Asaaranda found she liked hearing Cullen laugh– _really_ laugh, but kept it to herself.

After taking one of her last pawns, Cullen paused. He met her eyes and remarked, “This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition– or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

The words came spilling out of Asaaranda’s mouth and she shut it just too late; “We should spend more time together.”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up. But before she could backpedal and start stammering, the commander hesitantly said, “I would like that.”

For a moment, Asaaranda’s mouth just hung open. 

This time when she giggled it was wavering and nervous again; “M-me too…”

For a second, she thought she heard Cullen murmur, “You said that…”

He cleared his throat; “We should… finish our game, right? My turn?” She nodded hastily, eyes glued to the board. They were done in a few short turns, Asaaranda beaten even more soundly than Dorian had been.

She laughed more easily; “Guess I’m still no good at this, huh?”

Cullen laughed in turn; “You’ll get better. Trust me.”

* * *

She was supposed to have returned five days ago.

Cullen’s frown was nearly a scowl by this point as he stood at his desk, eyes running across the same lines of text over and over again. It wasn’t as though they had no idea of the Inquisitor’s whereabouts– ravens still returned with notes vaguely assuring all of them back at the castle that everyone was alive and making their way home. It was difficult to concentrate on his work, knowing that _something_ had kept Asaaranda from coming back in a timely manner and she and her companions were being infuriatingly coy about why in their correspondences.

Perhaps if her messages were clearer, he could focus. But he remembered how the day she rode off he barely got a thing done, how he was constantly catching himself staring off past Skyhold when he should have been working, and he knew that a clearer note wouldn’t have helped at all. 

Cullen let out a deep sigh and rubbed his temple; he was developing a headache. _Another_ headache. They came more frequently when she was away. 

And the headache only got sharper as a scout barreled into the room without knocking; “Ser!”

Cullen tried not to growl; “What is it?”

The scout’s frightened gulp told him he’d failed; “Th-the Inquisitor has returned!”

And like that, his headache disappeared; “What?”

The scout rubbed the back of their neck; “Y-you wanted to be informed right away when the Inquisitor returned! I _meant_ to inform you right away but… I got lost… She should be in the stables by now– Oh! I met her at the gates, she gave me these papers for y–“

Cullen rushed past the scout so quickly he nearly knocked the poor sod over. Unlike the unfortunate scout, he had Skyhold’s layout all but memorized. Getting down to the stables took less than no time at all, though he’ll admit to having nearly tripped a few times in his haste. When he made it there, he had to stop and lean on a post to catch his breath.

And there she was. 

Asaaranda had led her Battle Nug back into its stable and was still standing there in the hay with it– he still couldn’t believe she _actually_ rode that thing around, let alone that something like _it_ even existed. He and Josephine both had told her multiple times that it really didn’t paint her in the most dignified light, but she would always respond with a blank look and a plaintive, “But he’s cute!” They’d learned to stop arguing the point after a while.

The Inquisitor was certainly rumpled from the weeks away from Skyhold, with smudges of dirt and dried blood still on her face and her long coat tattered and stained mostly with mud around the hem. She was leaning heavy on her staff, simply because it looked like she’d fall over if she didn’t. The dark circles around her eyes were more pronounced than ever, and as she reached over to scratch the base of her nuggalope’s horns he could see a new violet burn on her wrist.

But she didn’t _seem_ as ruffled as she looked. Instead, she was smiling and crooning affectionate nonsense to her mount, who made contented rumbles back at her. Cullen shook his head with a soft smile; there was no accounting for taste, he supposed. Then, the Tal-Vashoth caught sight of him. 

She pivoted around to grin over at the Commander; “Cullen! Hey!” She let out a short chuckle through her nose and gestured wide with the arm not holding her staff, “I’m back, as you can see.”

He nodded, closing the distance between them as he replied, “Indeed you are. Five days late,” he raised an eyebrow up at her as he stopped at her side, “I know I’m going to be reading it in your report later, but… what kept you?”

Asaaranda let out a nervous chuckle, both hands going to her staff; “Well, first we kind of… got preoccupied in the Emerald Graves. We…” she grimaced, “stumbled on some giants. Two of them. In the same place. And in trying to get some distance from one of the giants I found a _rift_ and– yeah.”

The Inquisitor perked up; “Oh! But I found some abandoned caravans and notes from people smuggling red lyrium! I gave them to a runner to bring to your office when I got here. I don’t know how useful they’ll be really and at the last one I just kind of grabbed everything I could before the giant stepped on the wagon– but it’s something, right?“

Cullen grinned; “It’s _more_ than something. Thank you, Inquisitor.”

Asaaranda grinned, giggling lightly; “Oh! Well, uh, then you’re welcome, I guess,” she paused, then winced and continued, “Once we got done in the Emerald Graves we took a detour through the Exalted Plains and _wow_ there were a lot of rifts I hadn’t closed the last time through. _And_ when we were closing one Dorian stumbled backwards into a hunting trap and… Let’s just say it’s a good thing we were close to Fort Revasan otherwise I think we would have had to cut his leg off.”

Cullen grimaced, and Asaaranda sighed, “Oh yeah. And there were bears on the route up through the mountains. It… was kind of rough.”

“You must be exhausted,” the commander remarked.

Asaaranda shrugged; “I guess,” she let out a laugh and absently scratched behind her nuggalope’s ear, “Kaaras here probably got more sleep than I did out–“ 

The Tal-Vashoth’s eyes went wide and she suddenly exclaimed, “Oh _crap_ that’s right! Solas found me in the Fade when we were out there, said he found out some more important things about those shards,” she grinned apologetically down at Cullen, “Sorry, I’ve gotta run. But I’ll probably see you later at the war table!” 

And she was off, dashing with her staff hanging at her side since having it in front would slow her down.

For a moment he could only blink. She’d been walking and riding across the wilderness for nearly two weeks, she’d probably only slept two nights of that, and yet she could still bound off so quickly… he looked over at ‘Kaaras’, the creature also watching his master’s back receding into the distance.

He met the nuggalope’s beady eyes for a moment and muttered, “I hope you were looking after her out there.” The beast made no reply, just turning to itch its horns on a nearby post. Cullen expected as much– nugs of all sizes weren’t exactly known for their conversation.

The Commander started on his way back up to his tower, but it was much slower than his trip to the stables. His mind was stuck on Asaaranda. He could still clearly see her struggling to not just fall dead asleep right there in the stables, her staff more a crutch today than a shield. The angry burn on her wrist had looked almost fresh– she must have made sure all the poultices and healing magic went to Dorian, saving only the barest amount for herself.

He sighed as he reached the top of the battlements; he never worried about her not being able to protect herself. He was glad she took Cole out with her so often– odd as he was, the boy would make sure she wasn’t running herself to death. She was trying, and her efforts were getting the Inquisition results, but he could still see her sighing too hard, her laughter wavering with nerves, her _still_ not sleeping.

For a moment, he wished he could do something more for her. His duties kept him stuck here; he couldn't be _there_ for her, there to ease her burden, there to–

Cullen stopped dead in his tracks, and could only stare ahead. He felt something catch in his throat, but he didn’t push it back. It was too late for that.

His smile was soft but sad, weary, and he murmured, “Ah. Well… That’s something.” 

* * *

To say Asaaranda had finally gotten a moment to herself would be to assume she’d _wanted_ one. What she’d _wanted_ was to finish talking to Cassandra, then swing back around to the tower to see how Dorian was holding up, then run back down and see if Josephine had any news for her and then call the war council and see how their operations were running and hopefully get an idea as to what to do after that while Leliana, Josephine and Cullen argued about something she still didn’t quite understand.

That plan was ruined when her grip on her staff had failed her and she’d nearly fallen _on_ Cassandra. The Seeker had all but ordered her to go to her quarters and sleep; since it was Cassandra there was very little she could do to resist. Doubtless if she’d tried Cassandra would pick her up and carry her all the way there.

So, Asaaranda Adaar had finally been forced into a moment alone. Since she was determined to work, she’d written her report of the excursion to the Dales and called a runner to bring it to Leliana first thing after stepping foot in her quarters. Then she’d washed her face, finally saw to properly cleaning and dressing the burn on her wrist, taken off her torn and muddy gear, and was now pacing sluggish circles around her quarters. She had to sleep. She knew that. But that didn’t mean she wanted to.

She sat down heavily on her bed with a sigh; “Come on, Asaaranda. Inquisition can’t have their leader passing out and falling off the battlements or something.” She pushed down the little voice that said _Yes, but they can’t have her getting possessed either_. She was getting better at pushing that particular voice away– by inches, yes, but inches were more than she’d ever had before.

The Vashoth allowed herself a small smile; it was difficult not to let her mind drift to Cullen when she was forcing herself to sleep. She leaned back on her hands, deep in thought now. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d been thinking about him out in the Dales until he’d appeared at the stables. Asaaranda frowned– he’d looked out of breath, tired. Was he doing alright? Hopefully he wasn’t working too hard, or pushing himself too far. Doubtless that sort of thing would be worse with Lyrium withdrawal on top of it–

Asaaranda smacked herself on the forehead with both hands and hissed, “ _Maker’s Balls_ Asaaranda shut _up!_ He’s older than you don’t _fret_ over him like this.” For a brief second, she smirked and thought that perhaps she shouldn’t spend so much time around Blackwall.

Then she sighed, bringing her marked hand down to cover her mouth while her other hand absently scratched at the base of her horns. How long had it been? Multiple months had passed, certainly. And here she _still_ was, blushing and giggling and sighing over yet another handsome human man. This usually ended. Either the man left, or she finally pushed it down. And she’d _tried_ to push it down. Not very _hard_ , but she _had_ tried. 

But it wasn’t going away. It was just getting more and more real. She scratched more insistently at the base of her horn– it _couldn’t_ get more real. Because if it did, if she hoped too hard she would finally hope enough to get hurt and–

She closed her eyes and saw him staring down at the tiny wooden box on his desk and heard his haggard voice and felt that desperate ache to help, to just be _there_ if that’s what he needed, _wanted_.

But he _couldn't_ want her.

Asaaranda screwed her eyes shut and pulled her mouth into a crooked rictus grin. She was scratching hard enough at her horn to make razor thin red lines in the dusky skin around its base. She forced breathless, harsh laughs out of her lungs, tears leaking out of her tightly closed eyes. The Vashoth roughly grabbed both of her horns as she brought her knees up, shoved her face into them.

She could break them off right now. She could grip as tight as she could and crack them off at the base. She could get rid of these hideous growths on her head that made her look like the kind of beast people like Cullen killed. But it wouldn’t do anything. She was still a hulking mannish giant from some far away alien shore with lifeless grey skin and snow white hair and unnerving orange eyes that bored into you. She was still a savage oxman with unholy magical power who could turn into an abomination any moment, a target for Templars and fearful townspeople who would burn her at the stake to send her back to the void and kill anyone who sheltered her.

She was a creature. A monster. A burden.

Her throat was raw, her forced nervous laughter finally breaking down into sobs. She wanted Cullen. She wanted to be with him more than anything. He was more than what she’d ever dreamed of, more than just the knight in the books she’d read as a child. He was a real man who she wanted to help, care for, stand beside and support. 

But it didn’t matter how much she cared. She wasn’t the one who stood beside him. She was the one who spewed fire from her fearsome maw, who fell to his sword piercing the unarmored flesh beneath her wing.

* * *

Josephine postponed the night’s war council until the next morning. She told Cullen and Leliana that the Inquisitor needed her rest after such a trying journey with a tight smile.

But the image through the not-quite-closed door of the Inquisitor curled in a ball on her bed, body shaking and breath hitching, rested heavy in the back of her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

“Asaaranda.”

The Tal-Vashoth immediately looked up from the documents on Josephine’s desk, looking for all the world like a child who just heard their parents use their middle name. Josephine couldn’t help but feel like she was in a similar position; it was very rare she had cause to use the younger woman’s given name. After all, it wouldn’t be an appropriate way to address the Inquisitor. But right now she wasn’t _really_ going to speak to the Inquisitor. 

“Y-yes?” Asaaranda stammered. Immediately her staff was against her chest, and Josephine had to stifle a sigh.

The ambassador stood, walking to stand in front of Asaaranda as she said, “I’ve noticed that you’ve been… out of sorts, lately. Actually, perhaps that isn’t the most accurate way to put it,” Josephine sighed, “Honestly, you seem _miserable_ when you’re here at Skyhold. And that’s when you _are_ here. You seize any excuse to leave, and Ser Blackwall has told me that your companions have had to nearly drag you back from the field.”

The Tal-Vashoth’s smile was brittle, and she curled in on herself to the point where she was nearly at Josephine’s height; “I-I’m okay, Josephine. Really, I-I just–“

“ _Asaaranda_ ,” Josephine cut in, putting a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder and looking her in the eye, “This isn’t about the Inquisition. This is about _you_.”

She smiled at the younger woman; “I thought it was clear after you helped me cancel the contract on my life, but you’re my _friend_. I can’t sit by when a friend is feeling so awful.”

Asaaranda stubbornly avoided her eyes, staring at the floor and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth; “It’s… it’s just s-some stupid personal stuff, y-you really don’t have to–“

Josephine nodded; “You’re right. I _don’t_ have to. I _want_ to. So let me.”

For a moment, the mage just stared at the floor. Then, she let out a shuddering sigh and leaned heavily against Josephine’s desk. Josephine waited; Asaaranda would speak when she needed to.

The tall woman forced the words out; “It’s just… It’s… Cullen…”

Josephine immediately frowned; “Has the Commander done something–“

Asaaranda’s head snapped up, orange eyes wide in panic; “No! N-no, he hasn’t _done_ anything it’s–!“ She smacked her forehead with her marked hand, eyes clenching shut and anchor pulsing beneath her glove. 

“Oh _fuck_ how do I say this,” she hissed. 

Asaaranda leaned back and dragged her hand down her face, stammering, “O-okay, i-it may seem obvious to you but c-can you please just– tell me that you won’t think this is stupid or laugh at me? Please?”

Josephine nodded; “Of course I won’t.” With a long, wavering breath in, Asaaranda’s hand returned to her staff. She tucked her head in and drew her staff as close as she could bring it. 

She exhaled, and everything poured out like a waterfall; “I-I kind of– no, I _do_ care for Cullen. A lot. B-but I just– He’s a _human_ and I’m _me_ I mean– _look_ at me I’m– _Maker_ I worry about him so much and I want to be _there_ for him a-and he’s _wonderful_ I-I’ve never met anyone like him and I want him to be _happy_ but I want to be with him and that _just can’t happen_ I’m– I-I’m a _mage_ I look like _this_ I-I just– I don’t _deserve him_ but– He deserves someone beautiful and normal and that’s _not me_.“

Asaaranda had curled around her staff, face hidden behind white hair as it fell forward over her shoulders. Her hands were gripping the staff so tightly she could almost hear the metal creaking under the strain. Josephine could see the hairline scars around the base of her horns, as if someone had been consistently, angrily scratching at them.

Josephine quickly closed the distance between them, putting her hands on the Tal-Vashoth’s shoulders; “Asaaranda. Look at me.”

Slowly, the young woman did. There were no tears in her eyes, but they didn’t look far away. Her dark circles looked even darker, deeper– she had been sleeping even less. Josephine couldn’t keep a spark of pity out of her eyes; living as a Tal-Vashoth in a world of humans had left more scars than just the ones on the woman’s skin.

Josephine smiled, tucking some of Asaaranda’s hair back behind her ear as she said, “It doesn’t matter that you aren’t ‘normal’. Nobody here is, not even our commander. And I imagine that if your being a mage bothered him, he would have said so long ago. And,” she beamed at the Tal-Vashoth, “You are _beautiful._ Hang anyone who says different.”

Asaaranda tried to curl back in on herself; “B-but I don’t–“

“Look like human women? What does that matter? You _aren’t_ human,” Josephine replied, “And that is nothing to ever be ashamed of. You _are_ beautiful, Asaaranda. That’s not an opinion, but a fact.” The mage’s grip on her staff loosened slightly as a weak smile tugged at the corners of her lips. 

“But more importantly than _any_ of that,” Josephine continued, “Is that you are a kind, hardworking, brave and compassionate woman. That more than anything makes you _more_ than worthy of anyone who catches your eye. They should be worried about not being good enough for _you_.”

Asaaranda suddenly looked down; “I-I– what if he doesn’t…”

Josephine grinned; “Well, the best way to know the answer to _that_ is to go and ask him.”

The young woman’s head whipped up to look at Josephine, her face nearly white; “What?! Y-you mean right now?!” 

The ambassador nodded; “Yes, right now. If he feels the same, then we celebrate. If he doesn’t, then you will find someone new one day. If it’s what you want, then you’ll find it.” Asaaranda gnawed at her bottom lip for a moment, then swallowed loudly and stood up from Josephine’s desk, back straight and hands shaking. 

“A-alright… Alright! I’ll… I’ll do it. Right now,” she breathed.

“Excellent, but there’s one more thing,” Josephine remarked. She held out her hand, and Asaaranda just stared at it, a white brow raised.

Josephine’s voice was low but firm; “Give me your staff.”

Immediately Asaaranda drew back, eyes going wide and shoulders hunching in; “W-what? Why–“

“You know why,” the ambassador replied. The Inquisitor’s mouth hung open, then closed, then opened again with no noise coming out. But she took a shaky breath and gingerly placed her staff in Josephine’s hand. It was slightly heavier than she’d expected it to be, but not too heavy for her to lift. It was stable, like the weight of someone’s hand on your shoulder as they guided you.

She looked up at Asaaranda, in that moment more lost than ever. Her shield, crutch and security blanket was gone, and she was going to do perhaps one of the most frightening things she’d ever had to do with it far away.

The Inquisitor gave a curt nod and a small, uncertain smile; “Well… pray for me, I guess.” Her hands folded in front of her chest, right one over her left, and the Tal-Vashoth left the room. Josephine watched her stride, and saw she wasn’t limping. 

The ambassador leaned the staff against the fireplace wall. Asaaranda would be fine.

* * *

_He’s beautiful like in the stories Tama read, strong solid and stable, a serene shard. His hands shake ever so slightly as he moves the pieces across the board, I want to help him but will he see me or the horns, the staff, my shadow drowning him in darkness? So much wrong with me, too much, but he laughs and my heart twirls and twists and shouts. Want him to be happy. Want to be with him. Want those to cross, but they can’t, because they never have._

“She needs you to show her this isn’t a story. It’s real, and that’s better.”

Cullen looked up from his desk, eyes darting around the room. Where had that come from? One of the doors was ajar, but whoever had come through it was gone. The commander frowned, having the distinct feeling he’d forgotten something, but he couldn’t remember what he’d forgotten. He tried to remember what the intruder had said, but the words were starting to fall to pieces, fraying and fading at the edges.

He tried to put it out of his mind. But the words rested in the small spaces, waiting for the right moment to be remembered.   

* * *

Asaaranda had to learn how to breathe all over again as she walked across the battlements, and for the nineteenth time since leaving her office swore at Josephine for taking her staff. She wasn’t _safe_ without it she needed it to protect herself just in–

“ _Fucking stop it_ Asaaranda you’re not going into a fight,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “You are going. To talk. To Cullen. You faced down maybe-an-Archdemon, this is nothing.”

Even so, she shuddered to a stop in front of the commander’s tower, staring at the wooden door with eyes swimming in fear. Several times she slowly reached out to knock before pulling her hand back to her chest. With no staff to cling to, she rubbed at her left hand, feeling the mark thrumming in time with her heart. Asaaranda took a deep breath– in through her nose, out through her mouth, like she was clearing her mind before casting a spell.

She breathed, “Don’t be a coward, Asaaranda.”

The mage reached out. And knocked on the wooden door. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard a slightly muffled, “Come in.” _Don’t be a coward, Asaaranda_.

She nudged the door open, peeking around it with an anxious smile; “H-hello, Cullen.” She hoped he’d heard that. She wasn’t even sure _she’d_ heard that.

The commander had been leaning over his desk, but the moment he saw her he stood to his full height with a smile; “Ah, Inquisitor. Is there something you need?” Asaaranda could _feel_ herself paling– well. That didn’t give her much room to stall. 

The Vashoth crept into the room, fiddling with her fingers and stammering, “I-I was actually… I was actually hoping we could t-talk… Alone?”

His eyebrows shot up; “Alone?” Asaaranda immediately braced for the worst, but all she heard was a halting, “I mean, of course.” For a moment, Asaaranda’s jaw locked tight.

She forced it open and a skittish laugh scuttled out of her throat; “W-well then, uh…” She made her way to the opposite door, Cullen on her heels. The two of them walked out onto the battlements, Cullen with a hand already rubbing the back of his neck and the both of them making certain not to stand too close. She watched him from the corner of her eye– he looked almost as apprehensive as she was. But then again, she was all but certain it was physically impossible for anyone to be as apprehensive as she was. 

Cullen broke the silence through a nervous chuckle, “It’s a nice day.”

Asaaranda nearly jumped; “W-what?”

Cullen paused with a slight grimace; “It’s…” he took his hand off his neck and turned to face Asaaranda, “There was something you wished to discuss?”

She could feel the anchor pulsing beneath her fingers; here it was. The moment of truth. Either she finally told Cullen how she felt, or she did a swan dive off the ramparts and never spoke to the commander again.

 _Don’t be a coward, Asaaranda_.

She blurted out, “C-cullen I care for you and– ah…” Asaaranda covered her mouth and sat down heavily on the stone edge of the wall– even with this outcropping being so low, Asaaranda’s head was level with Cullen’s chest.

Cullen came closer, voice soft and concerned; “What’s wrong?”

Asaaranda let out a mirthless cough of a chuckle, bringing her hands away from her face; “Well _a lot_ but… I-I mean I _know_ you’re not– You left the templars, but do you trust mages? Could you… t-think of me as anything more?” She shut her eyes tight. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much if she didn’t see it…

But when Cullen’s voice met her ears it was gentle, raw and unsure; “I could,” Asaaranda’s eyes shot open wide as he stammered, “I mean, I-I do… think of you. And what I might say in this sort of situation.” He was looking just past her face, rubbing at the scar on his mouth with agitated fingers. There was reddish tinge to his cheeks.

Asaaranda sputtered, “W-wait, what? Y-you– I-I mean, the way I… what I…” when Cullen looked to her with uncomprehending eyes, she sighed and gently gripped one of her horns, “ _This_ isn’t… a problem?”

Cullen moved his hand away from his mouth, revealing a crooked smile; “Not at all.” For a moment, all she could do was let out a breathless giggle. Then she noticed he was still deliberately not too close, saw his stiff stance and shifting eyes.

Asaaranda leaned forward, hands beside her on the stone; “Then… What’s stopping you?”

Cullen let out a sigh and stared just over her head, then met her eyes. He started walking closer to her and murmured, “You’re the _Inquisitor_. We’re at war. And you… I didn’t think it was possible.”

The young woman smiled, bright and hopeful, and gave the commander a loose shrug; “Well… here I am.”

Cullen smiled, moving in closer; “Right… You're here,” he leaned in closer and Asaaranda slowly tilted her face up as it burned a deep purple, “It seems too much to ask.”

His hands ghosted over waist, their mouths mere inches apart now; “But I want to–“

“Commander!”

Asaaranda jolted back so quickly she nearly fell off the wall. As Cullen turned to instill a deep and powerful fear of the Maker in the poor soldier, Asaaranda buried her face in her hands, every single piece of her mind screaming at her _what were you_ THINKING _this is the most embarrassing thing now he has a moment to reconsider and he’s going to tell you it won’t work and that you’re hideous and wrong and–_

She took her face out of her hands as the scout rushed back the way he’d came, forcing a grin and babbling, “I-I’m sorry I don’t know wh–“

Cullen pivoted around, grabbed her waist and kissed her with such intensity she nearly fell off the battlements again. For the first time in a very long time, her mind was entirely silent. _Maker’s Breath_ , she’d dreamed of this happening to her for years but now that it actually _was–_ her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings. 

Cullen pulled back, a sheepish look on his face as he said in a low, breathless voice, “I’m sorry, that was… uhm… really nice.”

Asaaranda tentatively put a hand on his arm and whispered, “Y-you don’t… regret it, do you?”

He blinked in surprise; “No! No,” he leaned back in with a fond smile, “Not at all.” Asaaranda laughed into his lips and dared to let a hand card through his hair.

The only thought in her mind was _Thank you._

* * *

The enchanter smiled as the Inquisitor turned to leave; “I’m not surprised you chose our resident knight in shining armor.”

Asaaranda let out a squeak, head whipping around and face a faded violet; “Wh-what are– I-I don’t–“

Vivienne let her smile turn to a smirk; “You’ve been smiling all afternoon, Darling. But more importantly, my balcony has a _very_ good view of the ramparts. Keep whatever company you like, but I’d recommend a bit of discretion. Just something for you to consider.”

As the Tal-Vashoth sputtered a few half-words, then just shouted “Goodbye” and scurried off, Vivienne shook her head and for a moment let a bit of fondness spill into her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Since the fact that she's younger than Josephine might get some of you wondering, I'll say right here in black and white that Asaaranda is twenty-two years old.
> 
> 2) I honestly tried to avoid the 'Cole as intentional/unintentional matchmaker' trope. In fact, originally Asaaranda was going to have spoken to Cole in the beginning segment instead of Josephine. BUT writing Cole is really fun and I wrote his line to Cullen about the story and I liked it so much it kind of had to be in the story oops. And also my original idea of Dorian talking to Cullen just wasn't working so I scrapped the segment for something else.
> 
> 3) After seeing a tumblr post highlighting how Vivienne has a perfect view of the Inquisitor and Cullen's first kiss, I kind of had to put in that little bit at the end just for a bit of fun. The Iron Lady isn't above a little teasing, and a little fondness. Iron may never be soft, but it isn't always cold.
> 
> 4) CAN I JUST SAY HOW GODDAMN CATHARTIC IT WAS WRITING THAT SWEET SUGARY LOVE SCENE AFTER HAVING LIKE LEAPT INTO THE DEEP DARK PUDDLE OF ASAARANDA'S SELF-LOATHING LAST CHAPTER. IT FELT REALLY FUCKING GOOD.


	7. Chapter 7

Asaaranda poked her head into the room with such perfect timing Cullen was _certain_ Cole had a hand in it. His handwriting had slowly been turning into a shaky, jumbled mess as his hands refused to be still while his head squeezed down like a vice on his mind. 

He smiled, saying through a sigh of relief, “I hoped you would stop by.” The Inquisitor beamed back at him, bumping the door all the way open with her hip since her hands were full– one held her staff, the other a mug of tea. As the familiar and pleasing scent of it drifted over to him, Cullen smirked; alright, Cole _definitely_ had a hand in this. Either that, or Asaaranda had bribed a member of the kitchen staff into telling her what kind of tea he liked.

Asaaranda lightly kicked the door shut and leaned her staff against the bookcase; “A little spirit told me you needed a distraction.” She walked with a noticeable bounce in her step over to his desk, pausing and looking for just the right place to set the mug down before settling for placing it in the middle of his desk between two scattered reports. 

Cullen with deliberate speed wound an arm around her waist, and silently thanked Andraste that Asaaranda leaned into it just as deliberately and perched on the arm rest of his chair. He liked having her this close. The air around her hummed at a different pitch– perhaps it was her magic, perhaps it was her mark, but the subtle vibration was slowly soothing the pain in his skull.

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing for us all that you are _very_ distracting,” Cullen remarked, grinning wolfishly up at Asaaranda. She ran a hand through her hair with an airy laugh, reflexively looking away.

The mage then remarked, “The Commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste… People are talking already. You know that, right?”

Cullen shut his eyes and rubbed at his temple with a sigh; “You wouldn’t _believe_ how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks.”

Cullen could feel her tense under his arm. She tilted her head to the side, wondering, “Does it bother you?”

“I would rather my– _our_ – private affairs remain that way,” he replied, but he opened his eyes and smiled up at her; “ _But_ if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more.” Asaaranda relaxed and giggled into her hand, cheeks already turning that pretty shade of purple.

Suddenly, a thoughtful look entered her eye, and she smirked impishly; “Hey… When you kissed me out on the battlements… How long had you wanted to do that?” His mind drifted back to her breath against his face as he dragged her through the snow, her asleep on the floor of the war room…

Cullen chuckled and simply said, “Longer than I should admit.”

The Tal-Vashoth fiddled with her fingers, looking away as she spoke; “I-I know you told me then that me being…” she made quotation marks with her fingers, “‘Qunari’ didn’t matter but uh… I-I’m just _really_ glad that didn’t scare you off.”

Cullen’s smile fell as a thought struck him; he had thought for so long about _her_ as the oddity, had to take time and effort to see past the stranger things about her. He _had_ considered that his history as a Templar could stand between them, could scare off a very easily frightened apostate. But he hadn’t thought for even a moment that _his_ species mattered. Not for the first time, he felt like punching himself in the face hard enough to break his own nose.

The thoughts spilled out of his mouth without warning; “I hadn’t considered… I never thought about what my being… _human_ would mean, or if it– I hope that doesn’t–“ 

He stopped himself, then looked up to meet her eyes, “I mean… _Does_ it bother you?”

She shook her head; “No. If you care about me, that’s all that matters.”

Cullen closed his eyes with a soft sigh, “I’m not very good at this, am I? If I seem unsure, it’s because it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted _anyone_ in my life,” he gently stroked her back, “I wasn’t expecting to find that here. Or you.”

Asaaranda just smiled and pressed a feather soft kiss into his hair; “You’re doing just fine, Kadan.”

He smiled in kind, but quirked an eyebrow as she pulled away; “Kadan?”

She started slightly; “Oh– It’s Qunlat. It means ‘my heart’, I think.”

Cullen snorted with a grin; “You _think?_ ”

She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder and replied, “Hey now, my parents were more insistent I learn Common than Qunlat. I just know that, ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’ and a couple dozen swear words.” Cullen couldn’t help a full laugh straight from his stomach, which earned him another even lighter cuff on the shoulder.

She shook her head and wondered through a laugh of her own, “Seriously? Why is _that_ so funny?”

Cullen couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice; “I’ll just say that it’s _very_ easy to forget you were raised by mercenaries.” 

Asaaranda frowned and grumbled, “Dorian says the same thing. Do I need to start swearing and drinking more or something? Maybe I could start making more bad puns on our friends' names…”

Cullen shook his head, staring past Asaaranda at the bookshelf; “Kadan,” he murmured. The cadence of it even sounded like a heartbeat.

“What do you think of it?” the young woman asked, eyes glimmering with hope.

Cullen leaned up and pressed a kiss to her jaw, whispering, “I like it.” She giggled again, and he felt it all over.

* * *

Sera leapt onto her stool, almost knocking it all the way over. As her seat wobbled back into place, a huge slash of white teeth threatened to split her face in two; “ _So._ ”

Cassandra quirked a brow; “So, what?”

The elf screwed her mouth into a deep frown before she snapped, “You _know_ what! Our Quizzy and her Cully-Wully,” her grin came back in full force, “Makes sense. Lots of men under him. Needs a woman over him. ‘Cause, y’know. Positions.”

Cassandra just closed her eyes, a brow twitching while Blackwall and Iron Bull both shamelessly snickered into their ale. Cole blinked owlishly, but kept silent so Sera could more effectively pretend he wasn’t there.

Dorian let out a short bark of a laugh; “You have _met_ those two, right Sera? Considering how long it took them to just get _this_ far, we shouldn’t expect any caboodling until the next age, at the _least_.”

The elf raised a brow; “ _Caboodling?_ ”

“Yes, _caboodling_ ,” Dorian replied with a decisive sip of wine. 

“Good word for it,” Varric chimed in with a wolfish grin, “Those two are _just_ a bit too awkward for anything else.”

Blackwall snorted and added, “I think they’ll get around to it quicker than y’think; Cullen looks for an awful lot of _guidance_ in those swaying hips of hers.”

Cole’s eyes went wide and he sat up stock straight, words tumbling out of his mouth; “ _There’s so_ much _of her. Scars veins of silver in a mighty mountainside, burns pressed and dried violets, muscles rippling like water as she spins and strikes underneath the sun. Want to see them moving and writhing above me in the dark, hear her gasp and lose her breath for me, want to feel her large but lithe, limber hands pressing on my chest as she takes all of me inside. Will I even be enough to fill her?_ ”

Half the table tried to look absolutely anywhere else as Cole relaxed back into his normal slouch, but Blackwall just nodded with his eyes shut; “As I was saying.”

Sera looked up, lips pursing in thought; “Y’ _really_ think she’ll ride ‘im? Quiz’s too much’ve a princess to do anything wild, and she’s _big_ , so she might break ‘im in half if she gets too into it.” The elf let out a snigger, but it drifted into a sigh as her mind got caught for a moment on just how _big_ the lady Inquisitor was.

Cassandra frowned over at the elf; “ _Sera_ , that’s–“

Bull cut her off, casually claiming, “Asaaranda’ll _definitely_ be on top the first time, but she’s not _really_ gonna be topping. She’s pure as the driven, but Cullen for damn sure isn’t, so she’ll let him choose how it goes. Maybe later on Cullen will stick it to her from behind to mix it up– They try doing anything else and her horns will get stuck in everything. _Everything_.” 

Ale nearly came shooting out of Blackwall’s nose while Sera let out a loud cackle. Cassandra turned a unique shade of red as she pressed her mouth into a tight line. Cole’s eyes widened slightly as he realized exactly where Bull was thinking of Asaaranda’s horns getting stuck, while Dorian chuckled something in Tevene into his wine. Even Varric was stifling a childish snicker.

Cassandra cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap; “Regardless of what they do on their own time… or _how_ they do it… I’m glad they’ve found each other. This should be good for them both.”

Cole smiled and spoke up; “She gets brighter whenever he’s close, feels lighter and sings a swift, sweet song. He’s possible, so now anything could be.” Sera grimaced at the very sound of the spirit’s voice, grumbling under her breath things Cole pretended not to hear.

Varric chuckled, grinning as he remarked, “Okay, now they’re _trying_ to be too sweet to handle.”

Dorian smirked, light dancing in his eyes and betraying him; “If it means Asaaranda’s going to stop dragging us out to the arse-end of Orlais to root around in caves for no real reason, then the two of them can be as sickeningly sweet as they like.”

Bull snorted; “Oh she’s _still_ gonna have us root around in caves. She’ll just actually have a reason for it now.”

Everyone at the table spied Asaaranda ducking into the tavern, holding her staff in a loose grip with a contented smile on her face. Everyone but Sera.

Which is why the Inquisitor walked up to the table just in time to hear Sera crow, “Oi, you think Cullen’s gonna grab her horns like handles when banging her up the back?!”

Nobody in Herald’s Rest had _ever_ seen a Qunari turn and run so fast or flush _that_ particular shade of purple, and likely wouldn’t again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so short because originally it was going to be three scenes, but in planning the third scene it ended up needing to be split into like four different scenes to make sense and I honestly couldn't think of anything else to put in this chapter, SO HERE WE ARE.


	8. Chapter 8

The Inquisitor was late and the entire Western half of Orlais had been engulfed in a storm of pink and red petals. Leliana honestly couldn’t keep her eyes off the gaudy, cliché’d, overstuffed bouquet lying on the war table. Just how much had Gaspard spent to get these roses here quickly enough that they’d still be (relatively) fresh when they arrived? She shared another glance with Josephine, the two of them quirking a brow at the display; you’d think if he was that serious about flattering the Inquisitor into throwing her support behind him, he’d take the time to actually _think_ about what kind of flowers he sent her.

She looked over at Cullen; he was _still_ glaring down at the flowers. Leliana just shook her head with a light smile.

The door burst open and Asaaranda nearly tripped through, babbling as she did, “S-sorry! I-I meant to get her sooner but– Cassandra needed my help with something and I thought I had more time than I did but–“ she shook her head to clear it, “Sorry.”

Cullen smiled almost instinctively at her; “It’s alright, Inquisitor. Now we can begin.”

Asaaranda stifled a nervous laugh and limped her way over to the table. She perked up when she noticed the roses on the table; “Oh! Whose are those?”

Leliana handed them to Asaaranda with a wry smile and replied, “They’re yours. Grand Duke Gaspard sent them along with an invitation to the ball at the Winter Palace– He knows _exactly_ what your support, real or imagined, would mean to the court.”

Josephine frowned and added, “Which is why I wouldn’t accept this invitation _just_ yet. The Inquisition isn’t going to be there to endorse one candidate for the throne or another. We still have a few other ways in I could arrange.”

Cullen rolled his eyes; “A way in is a way in, no matter what it might look like to the nobles.”

Leliana paused to let the Inquisitor weigh in. She didn’t. The spymaster raised a brow and turned to the Inquisitor… who was still staring at the bouquet in her hands. Her eyes were wide and glimmering, mouth pressed tight into a line to hide her quivering lip. She was staring at the glaringly pink and red bundle like it was a revelation from Andraste.

She absently rubbed at the base of her left horn, and with a tiny but blindingly bright smile she whispered, “These are for me…”

Asaaranda suddenly noticed all the eyes on her with a start, gently setting the roses down on The Dales and stammering, “Y-yeah, it’d probably not be good to come in with the guy trying to take the throne. B-but I mean this might be the only _really_ legitimate way we can get in, right? We’re still too controversial to get in on our own, and I don’t think anyone’s gonna care if we come in on the coattails of some minor lord…”   

She shrugged and added, “Besides, they’ll probably remember what we _do_ when we’re there better than who we came in with, right?”

Cullen snorted; “Inquisitor, don’t _ever_ assume the Orlesian nobility has its priorities straight.” The Tal-Vashoth nodded with a wry smirk, but her eyes drifted back down to her flowers. The rest of the war council went quickly, and Asaaranda scurried out ahead of them to find some water for her bouquet.

The advisors lingered at the war table, and Leliana remarked at _just_ the right pitch, “You know, roses don’t suit her.”

Josephine caught her meaning immediately; “Indeed. Especially pink and red ones. Lilies would have suited her better, I think. A simple bundle of orange and white lilies would have been perfect.” The two women glanced over at Cullen… who had been completely ignoring them since the Inquisitor left, and was staring intently at several pieces standing in for his troops in the Hinterlands. If he _had_ heard them, likely their meaning had flown entirely over his head.

Josephine and Leliana quietly excused themselves, then shared a long, satisfying eye-roll when they closed the doors behind them. 

* * *

Josephine stepped away to look at Asaaranda in the mirror; “So? How do you like it?”

The Tal-Vashoth grimaced and tugged at the collar of the Inquisition dress uniform; “It’s, uh… kinda tight,” she wheezed.

Josephine let out a soft chuckle; “That can be adjusted easily. What _can’t_ be adjusted so easily is how it _looks_. How does it _look?_ ”

Vivienne crossed her arms over her chest and remarked, “I think we should return to our first choice of red– this is a bit too dark to really flatter our Inquisitor’s skin tone.”

Josephine frowned over at the older mage– she still wasn’t sure if having her help with the design of the uniforms had been a good or horrible idea; “ _That_ shade of red would blind everyone in the ballroom.”

Vivienne smirked back at the ambassador, then smoothly looked over to Asaaranda and asked, “What do you think, Darling?”

The Tal-Vashoth quickly brought her hands back down to her sides and replied, “Uh… Yeah, maybe a brighter red?”

Josephine turned back to the Inquisitor; “You _still_ haven’t told me how you think it looks.”

The young woman rubbed her hands together, fingers lingering over her mark; “It looks… nice? I guess? We’ll probably all look fine…”

The ambassador blinked in confusion; until now, any time they’d talked about their strategy for the Winter Palace, Asaaranda had been attentive and enthusiastic. In fact, sometimes she’d seemed downright giddy. But now, standing here in the uniform, she was wilting, fidgeting and clasping her hands for lack of a staff to cling to. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” Josephine asked.

Asaaranda shrugged, tight and forced; “I-I don’t know, I guess… I-it’s kind of stupid, but I thought since I’m gonna be going to a ball… I’d be wearing a dress? Or something.”

Before Josephine could even open her mouth, Asaaranda immediately let out another nervous laugh; “B-but no, this is probably better. I mean, can you imagine _me_ in a _dress?_ ” Asaaranda tugged at the collar of the dress uniform again, and Josephine felt a soft frown pull at the corners of her mouth. She looked over to Vivienne; the enchanter was staring intently at Asaaranda, a hand to her chin in thought.

“Actually, that’s not so outrageous an idea,” Vivienne declared. Asaaranda’s eyes went wide while Josephine’s eyebrows hit her hairline.

The Tal-Vashoth opened her mouth to protest, but Vivienne continued, “We would have to keep it simple– You have a remarkable talent for falling into danger, and we _are_ on the hunt for an assassin, so it would have to be something easy to move in. But it would also have to be elegant, bold, striking; with the odds stacked against you, you’d need to show you’re not intimidated, that you’re not going to apologize for what you are. That the Inquisitor is here to get results, and look better than everyone else while doing it.”

Vivienne arched a brow and looked over to Josephine; “We _would_ have to put her in flat shoes, however. As I said, she has a talent for getting into danger, it wouldn’t do to have her heel breaking in the middle of a fight.”

Josephine gave in and remarked, “Something in red or orange would suit her, I think. And a large, tight sash would emphasize her figure without restricting her movement like a corset would.”

“S-so wait,” Asaaranda cut in, “I-is this… happening?”

Vivienne smiled and replied, “Of course it is, Darling. After all, this is a battlefield like any other, and we won’t have you going in without the proper armor.”

Asaaranda was still fiddling with her hands, but she couldn’t keep the gleam of excitement out of her eyes.    

* * *

“Josephine.” 

The ambassador nearly jumped– with the dull roar of conversation and the gentle music behind that filling the air, she hadn’t heard Cullen approach. She turned to him with a polite smile, but had to stifle a squeak. Rarely did Josephine see Cullen truly angry. Oh he certainly got frustrated often enough, either with soldiers who weren’t pulling their weight or strategies he was opposed to, but never truly did he get _angry_.

Not until now. Now, he was a tightly wound spring, jaw locked, mouth pressed into a deep scowl and narrowed eyes burning. He stood straighter than the pillars in the ballroom, his hands drawn as close to his side as he could bring them and balled into fists. His left eye twitched incessantly.

Josephine gaped for a moment before responding slowly, “Commander?”

“I need you to distract me,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“Why–“

He growled, “If I hear another noble calling the Inquisitor an ‘oxman’ I’m going to cause a diplomatic incident.”

 _Oh_. 

Josephine put her polite smile back on and gently took the commander by the shoulder; “Right then. Shall we take a walk around the ballroom?” He let out a grumble she assumed was affirmative and she set about leading him through the room at a clipped pace.

After walking for about thirty seconds, he snapped, “She’s one of the only people actually working to put things right and save _all_ of their pompous arses, you’d think the _least_ these people could do is not spew that kind of crap right in her face!”

“They’re intimidated by her,” Josephine replied, voice even and measured, “Her race and her magic, combined with what she’s accomplished and how she’s carrying herself tonight, have set all of them on edge. They’re trying to ‘put her in her place’.” The commander continued to mutter darkly under his breath.

Josephine glanced at Asaaranda as she whispered to Leliana on the other side of the ballroom; “She’s handling it well, however. I think we made the right choice putting her in the gown. The right armor for the right battle, as they say…”

And it was the right ‘armor’– they’d spent considerable time and just the right amount of money on making sure of that. The dress came off one shoulder and was made of a loose, light material– better for her to move around in. It was a deep vermillion that faded down to a pale gold, interrupted in the middle by a large bolt of black silk drawn tight around her midsection. And though she’d initially resisted the idea, the Inquisitor’s horns had been decorated each with three gold rings made specifically to fit them.   

Cullen smiled, mostly to himself; “She looks beautiful.” Josephine smiled in kind. And now she knew _exactly_ how to distract him.

“Indeed she does,” Josephine said with a sly look in her eye, “Will you be saving a dance for her, Commander?”

His laugh was more a cough, really; “That… wouldn’t be a very good idea. As I said to her, I’m not one for dancing.”

Josephine’s widened slightly and her smile fell; “You said that to _her?_ ”

Cullen blinked back at the ambassador, uncomprehending; “Yes?”

Josephine pursed her lips– now _she_ felt like she needed to be distracted; “So… She asked you if you would save a dance for her, and you said _no_. Straight to her face.”

“Well, it’s not as though that’s _really_ what we’re here for,” Cullen remarked, hand moving to the back of his neck, “I don’t see–“

“Yes, evidently you _don’t_ ,” Josephine snapped as she gracefully stopped and turned to glare at the commander. He just stared back at her, frozen. The man knew what he was in for.

The ambassador folded her arms behind her back and began, “All these people saying ‘oxman’ to her face, calling her a mannish brute and expecting her to take it with a smile? You’re only noticing it now. _She_ has heard it _every single day_ of her life. And unless she wanted to be _killed_ , she _had_ to take it with a smile.”

Josephine looked across the ballroom again, watching Asaaranda weave around the other guests; “But as a child, she read the same stories I did. She dreamed of the same things I did– receiving flowers and kisses on the hand, getting to wear beautiful dresses, dancing with and being swept off her feet by someone handsome and kind… But she was told every day she didn’t deserve that. That the kind of life she dreamed of wasn’t meant for someone like her.”

She looked Cullen dead in the eye; “That’s why she actually _asked_ if she could wear a gown instead of a dress uniform. That’s why she asked to dance with you when we've finished our work. It’s more than simply wanting to be treated like a lady. It’s wanting to know she’s _worthy_ of being treated like one.”

Cullen just stared at her, silent; he looked like he’d be perfectly happy if a rift opened up right beneath him and sent him tumbling into the Fade, never to be seen again. Josephine looked for Asaaranda from the corner of her eye– she was heading out of the ballroom, stride that much more focused. She had a lead.

“We must remain vigilant and remember why we’re here,” Josephine remarked, “But I would suggest you think very carefully about what you’ll do when our task is complete, Commander.”

* * *

Everything had been a blur since Florianne made her attempt on the Empress’ life. The ballroom had briefly turned into a battlefield, the Grand Duchess fell to the sword (or perhaps ‘staff’ was more appropriate here) of the Inquisition, Asaaranda somehow convinced Celene to make Briala a marquis, and just about everyone in the palace had decided in the wake of all that attempted regicide and political upheaval to get drunker than people had ever been in Halamshiral's entire recorded history.

In all the commotion, the Inquisition completely lost sight of their leader. But Cullen had a feeling Josephine hadn’t, considering how enthusiastically she shepherded Leliana, Dorian, Cole and Cassandra into searching just about anywhere but the ballroom, which he had the misfortune of having to sift through all by himself. 

Not wanting to speak to any more nobles ever again, Cullen simply started by going to where Celine and Asaaranda had addressed the court. Likely she hadn’t gone far…

She hadn’t. Cullen needed only to stand at the railing and look over his shoulder to see her standing on the balcony overlooking the palace grounds. The Tal-Vashoth woman’s back was turned, and she was speaking to a human woman in a dark red velvet dress with ink black hair neatly tied up. Cullen frowned as the woman’s eyes glinted gold in the moonlight; he had the distinct feeling he’d seen her before, nearly a lifetime ago…

The human woman turned to leave, and Cullen turned to take her place. They crossed through the double doors almost at the exact same time, but Cullen paused in the threshold to watch her leave. He recognized her dark makeup and confident stride, but still couldn’t quite place her… He shook it off and instead focused on Asaaranda.

She was resting her elbows on the railing, rubbing at the base of her horns. He couldn’t see her face, but from the harsh curve of her back and the sigh he could hear even over the sound of the ball, he could tell she was exhausted. She'd leaned her staff against the railing, at just the right distance for her to grab it in a hurry. 

Cullen walked to stand beside her; “There you are! Everyone’s been looking for you.” Asaaranda flinched, too weary from the night’s excitement to jump at the surprise, but smiled over her shoulder at him. He had to pause, struck all over again by the orange gown against her grey skin and the glint of the gold rings on her black horns.

He leaned in beside her, his face level with hers for once; “Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you alright?”

Asaaranda let out a long sigh; “Even though Celine and Briala will probably do good… This whole ‘game’ thing is so complicated I don’t _really_ know if I made the right choice,” she shook her head, closing her eyes and and rubbing her temple, “I guess I’m just worn out. It’s been a long night.”

“For all of us. I’m glad its over,” Cullen remarked. He brought a hand up to touch her shoulder, but paused for a moment. Then, he laced his fingers through Asaaranda’s hair and massaged the base of her horn with his thumb. She smiled and leaned into his hand, making a sound almost like a cat’s purring.

His voice dropped into a low murmur, “I know it’s foolish, but I was worried for you tonight.” She didn’t say anything, just reaching up to put her hand on his. From the ballroom Cullen could hear the music flow into a slower song; he glanced over his shoulder at the door, remembering Josephine’s words and how Asaaranda’s shoulders had slowly sank when he’d refused her early in the night. He looked back to her; the mage’s hooded eyes gazed out over the horizon, her white brows furrowed as she thought of what was to come.

So he smiled down at her and said, “I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask.”

Asaaranda’s eyes followed him as he smoothly stepped around her and bowed low, offering her a hand; “May I have this dance, my lady?”

First, she just gaped at him. Then, realization crept into her eyes as she turned and stood at her full height. And her face lit up, brighter than all the lights in the ballroom. A hand almost flew up to her mouth, but she stopped it halfway. Slowly, she reached out and took his hand.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” she laughed, voice thick as she cautiously placed her other hand on his shoulder. As if any touch too firm would break this moment.

Cullen put his other hand on her waist; “For you, I’ll try.”

It wasn’t perfect. But despite how many times Cullen nearly stepped on her toes or they had to adapt the steps Asaaranda was too tall for, the Inquisitor smiled for the entire rest of the evening and most of the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my fanfic and I can put my Inquisitor in a pretty dress if I want to.


	9. Chapter 9

Cassandra frowned and folded her arms over her chest; “You asked for my opinion, and I’ve given it. Why would you expect it to change?”

Cullen growled, “I _expect_ you to keep your word. It’s _relentless_ , I _can’t_ –“

“You give yourself too little credit,” she snapped, standing firm.

The commander ground his teeth, shaking all over as he hissed, “If I’m unable to fulfill what vows I kept then _nothing_ good has come of this. Would you rather _save face_ than admit–“

The door swung open, the wood and metal hitting the stone wall; Cassandra quickly looked to the interruption, but Cullen hesitated. Perhaps a part of him knew who it was already.

The Inquisitor stood in the doorway, her staff clutched tight to her chest and her mouth pressed tightly closed. Her wide eyes darted between the two humans; Cassandra had to wonder how much the Tal-Vashoth had heard. She looked back over to Cullen. The commander was simply staring at Asaaranda, his face full of nothing but guilt.

The Inquisitor crept into the room and the commander made to leave it, murmuring “Forgive me” as he passed her.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at his back and remarked just before he passed through the door, “And people say _I’m_ stubborn. This is ridiculous.” Cullen didn’t even pause, slamming the door behind him. Asaaranda’s orange eyes flickered between the door and Cassandra, her shoulders hunched in.

“W-what’s going on?” she asked, finally making direct eye-contact with the older woman.

Cassandra’s face softened some; “Cullen told you that he’s no longer taking lyrium?”

Asaaranda nodded; “Yeah. I think he’s brave to do it.”

“As do I. Not that he’s willing to listen,” the older woman said, unfolding her arms to let them hang loose at her sides. “Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him.” Somehow, Asaaranda’s eyes managed to get even wider. She couldn’t pull her staff any closer, so she curled forward slightly.

Cassandra continued, “I refused. It’s not necessary. Besides… It would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

The mage’s hands twisted and shivered on her staff, her eyes drifting to the nearby fire as she murmured, “W-why… why didn’t he come to me?”

“We had an agreement long before you joined us,” Cassandra explained, “As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers.”

She paused; “And he wouldn’t want to… risk your disappointment.”

Asaaranda pursed her lips in thought, then looked up quickly and asked, “Is there anything we can do to change his mind?”

“If anyone could, it’s you,” Cassandra replied, eyes drifting to the fire, “Mages have made their suffering known, but templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash.”

She looked back to Asaaranda, eyes alight; “Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself– and anyone who would follow suit– that it’s possible. He _can_ do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall.”

Cassandra reached out and put a hand on Asaaranda’s arm; “Talk to him. Decide if now is the time.”

The Tal-Vashoth stared at the fire a moment longer, then looked Cassandra in the eye and nodded. Asaaranda turned and started limping to the door, but stopped. She stared ahead, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, before turning and walking back over to Cassandra.

She held out her staff and asked in a choked whisper, “Can you… hold this for me?”

Cassandra’s brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to ask why. But then, suddenly, she could remember every time Asaaranda had clutched her weapon to her chest like it was a stuffed toy with incredible clarity. And she understood.

The Seeker smiled and took the staff; “Of course, my friend.” Asaaranda’s grin was crooked and twitched at the edges. Cassandra almost didn’t hear her whisper “Thank you” before she rushed out of the room. She looked from the door to the staff and back again, then gently laid the staff on a nearby table. 

Cullen could do this. They both could. 

* * *

This was the second time now Asaaranda had to learn how to breathe again while making her way across the battlements. But she kept her hands stiff at her sides instead of folding them over her chest.  _Don’t be a coward, Asaaranda_ . He needed her to be brave.  _She_ needed to be brave.

Briefly, she closed her eyes; _faded memories like something from a forgotten dream, two shadows, both tall. A lithe graceful woman and a wall of a man. The man leans heavy on the woman and clings to her like life itself as she strokes circles on his back._

_“Herah–“ “It’s alright, Kost.” “I-I just… Seheron–“ “I know. I know.”_

She opened her eyes and shuddered to a stop outside the commander’s tower. Cullen hadn’t closed the door; she could see him leaning over his desk, staring down at the familiar wooden box. He was still trembling all over, gritting his teeth. Asaaranda stepped into the doorway when suddenly he let out a roar and threw the box across the room; the Vashoth just barely dodged it, letting out a sharp yelp as it hit the door. 

Cullen’s head whipped up, eyes wide as he sputtered, “Maker’s Breath! I didn’t hear you enter, I–“ He looked down as he took great care standing to his full height, “Forgive me.” Asaaranda knew she was cowering, hands and arms flush with her chest and back hunched over. _Don’t be a coward, Asaaranda._

She forced her back straight and stammered, “C-Cullen, if y-you need to talk–“

He started walking towards her; “You don’t have to–“ He lurched forward with a pained groan, just barely catching himself on the corner of his desk. Asaaranda couldn’t help a gasp and was across the room in seconds, stopping herself a good two feet away. Her hands had gone out on reflex, but now she didn’t know what to do with them, so they hung awkwardly in front of her.

Cullen took a few deep, shaking breaths before he muttered, “I never meant for this to interfere.”

Slowly, Asaaranda let her right hand grasp her left, folding them in front of her chest as she wondered, “Are… are you going to be alright?”

He responded too quickly; “Yes…” Cullen paused, then let out a ragged sigh, “I don’t know.”

The commander pushed himself up, words coming out in a torrent; “You asked what happened to Ferelden’s Circle. It was taken over by abominations. The templars– _my friends_ – were _slaughtered!_ ”

Asaaranda’s eyes went wide, her jaw dropping open as Cullen dragged himself over to the window, leaned heavily on the wall and kept on speaking, “I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I–“ he looked over to Asaaranda, something wild in his eyes, “How can you be the same _person_ after that?!”

“Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to _Kirkwall_ ,” Cullen spat out the city’s name like poison, turning from the window and glowering at one of the bookcases, “I _trusted_ my knight-commander, and for what? Her _fear_ of mages ended in _madness_. Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets.” 

He stared icily over at Asaaranda and hissed, “Can’t you _see_ why I want _nothing_ to do with that life?!”

She reached out with her marked hand on instinct, palm up; “Of _course_ I can, I–“

He cut her off; “Don’t! You should be questioning what I’ve done.”

He rubbed at the scar on his mouth, pacing over to the bookshelves; “I thought this would be better– that I would regain some control over my life,” his face twisted as he growled, “But these _thoughts_ won’t _leave me…_ ”

He gestured wildly as he paced in loose, agitated circles; “How many lives depend on our success? I _swore_ myself to this cause! I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry! I should be _taking it!_ ” He slammed his fist into the bookshelf and Asaaranda flinched, choking down another sharp cry.

Cullen hung his head and whispered, “I should be taking it…”

Asaaranda felt her throat ache. Every time she blinked, something came out of the darkness– _her mother pinning her father to the ground and calling for him to wake up as he thrashed in his sleep, red lyrium breaking through Cullen’s skin in jagged spikes, bodies chopped in ragged pieces and thrown into the trees, Cullen with blood in the patterns of vitaar on his face, the chains wrapping around his neck and choking him, pulling tight and breaking him into thousands of tiny shards_.

“ _Both face great danger in leaving. But no matter the danger, Kadan, I knew it would be even more dangerous if I_ didn’t _leave._ ”

She pursed her lips. This was _his_ choice.

The Vashoth mage slowly stepped forward, asking in a soft voice, “Cullen… this doesn’t have to _be_ about the Inquisition. Is this what _you_ want?”

Slowly he looked up at her, face still contorted in anger, and held her gaze for a moment.

Then he let his head hang again and his hand fall away from the shelf. He sighed, “No.”

As Asaaranda gradually closed the distance between them, Cullen deliberately stood up straight; “But… these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse– if I cannot endure this…”

She smiled, small but true, and put a firm hand on his shoulder; “If anyone can, Kadan, it’s you.” He closed his eyes, relaxed under her touch and let out a breath she didn’t know he was holding.

He opened his eyes and smiled back up at her; “Alright.” He still looked tired, and she could feel him trembling under her palm. But that strained hope, that hard-earned determination shone in his eyes again.

She squeezed his shoulder and whispered, “I’m here for you. Don’t forget that.”

He let out a shivering chuckle; “I’ll try.”

* * *

The wind was cold, but not so sharp or so swift that it could cut. It simply nipped at the commander’s face as he stared out over the Frostback Mountains. Today… today was better. He took a long breath in, closing his eyes; today, Cullen felt like Asaaranda could be right.

He heard uneven footsteps on the stone. From the corner of his eye, he saw the woman herself walking towards him on the battlements. Her limp and slouch were slightly less pronounced now, and she held her staff horizontally by her side. She pushed a lock of white hair behind her ear only for the wind to turn it loose again.

Cullen turned to face her as she stopped on the step just below him; “I wanted to thank you… when you came to see me… if there’s anything…” He gave up with a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“This sounded _much_ better in my head,” he muttered.

Asaaranda just smiled up at him; “So… You’re feeling better?”

“I… yes.”

Her smile fell into a tiny frown, and she asked in a soft voice, “Is it always that bad?”

His eyes drifted back to the mountains; “The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as if I’m back there… I should not have pushed myself so far that day.”

She smiled again with a soft breath of a laugh, “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

He smiled in turn; “I am.”

Cullen turned back to the mountains, Asaaranda moving tentatively to stand beside him as he mused, ”I’ve never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle. I was… not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me,” he frowned, eyes drifting down the mountains and into the valleys, “I’m not proud of the man that made me.”

His voice dropped almost into a whisper as he turned to look at the Tal-Vashoth woman beside him; “The way I saw mages… I’m not sure I would have cared about you, and the thought of that… _sickens_ me.”

He pivoted slightly to face her; “Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It’s a start.”

Asaaranda’s face had a light dusting of purple across her cheeks already. She shrugged and said, “Well… For all it’s worth, I like who you are now.”

His eyes widened as he looked up at her; “Even after…?” She leaned her staff against the wall and gently took his hands in her own. He let his fingers ghost over the anchor, its gentle thrumming a mirror of the young woman’s heart.

She laughed, “Sorry, Kadan, but it’ll take more than that to scare me away.” For a moment, all he could do was smile down at their hands. Her hands, larger than his and definitely twice as graceful, were always warmer than he expected. With his fingertips he traced the callouses on the bends of her fingers, earned from years of gripping her staff.

His smile fell as he looked up into her eyes; “What about you? You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?” Unsurprisingly, she let out a nervous laugh. But it was lower now, less halting and warbling through a crooked smile.

“This probably won’t come as much of a shock,” she breathed, “But I’m terrified.”

She ran her thumb over the back of his hand, voice and hands shaking in harmony; “So many people depend on us. On _me_. Corypheus is still out there. In the back of my head I’m… I-I’m always thinking of the ways I could fail, ruin everything.”

Cullen gave her hands a gentle squeeze; “We’ve made great strides. Do not doubt yourself– or the Inquisition– just yet,” he met her eyes, “If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask.”

Her face flushed violet as she laughed, “Well… There is _one_ thing you can do for me.” She leaned down, and he met her halfway.


	10. Chapter 10

Cullen remembered how quickly Asaaranda’s face had gone from excited to worried when she read the letter from Shokrakar. She’d been even quicker to send out Inquisition soldiers to search for the missing squad. Josephine had wondered if it was truly so urgent.

“If Shokrakar came to _us_ instead of handling it herself,” Asaaranda had responded with a furrowed brow and tight frown, “Then it _absolutely_ is.”

That had been several days ago. Now, Cullen watched anxiously as Asaaranda read Lieutenant Davrill’s report; though really, he could tell she’d already read it. Her eyes were just resting on the same lines of script as she tried to process it. Her grip on her staff in her other hand was tight but trembling. Her face had already fallen from hopeful into looking like she was going to be sick. The advisors could only shoot each other glances, each one wondering who was going to speak first– and, if they had to be the one to do it, what they’d say to her.

Josephine was the first to break the silence in the War Room, clutching some documents to her chest as she said, “You mustn’t blame yourself for this, Inquisitor.”

Asaaranda scowled up at Josephine and snapped, “Oh yes, tell me how I’m _absolutely blameless_ Josephine,” she slammed her hand down on the map, pinning the report to the table, “These people went after _my family_ because of what _I’m_ doing! Right now they’re being tortured or worse and why?! Because _I_ took this damn job!”

Leliana shot Asaaranda a stern look, countering, “You are not responsible for anyone’s actions but your own. If you’re going to be angry, be angry with these men for attacking your family. Taking it out on Josephine– or yourself– will solve nothing.” Asaaranda glowered at Leliana for a brief moment before she deflated, slouching down deep and curling around her staff with a weak sigh.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I shouldn’t have…” she took a hand away from her staff to rub at her brow, “What can we do?”

Cullen cleared his throat; “Captain Rylen has since sent another report on the situation. There’s not much more we can gain from reconnaissance– the cave the squad was taken to is heavily fortified, and we can’t get a clear idea of their numbers or exactly what defenses they have, or even if the prisoners are still alive. All of this combined with the location gives us very little choice than to send in troops for an assault on the cavern.”

The Tal-Vashoth woman stared silently at the map, mouth pressed into a tight line. Then, after a moment, she sighed, “I suppose that’s our only option then. We really don’t have timefor anything else… Alright. Mobilize an assault as soon as possible, Commander.”

She tried to stand up straight; “I-if that’s all, then I… I’ve gotta go think about _anything_ else,” her orange eyes flickered over to Josephine, “I-I’m really sorry for snapping at you, Josephine–“

The ambassador shook her head with a tight smile; “It is alright, Inquisitor,” her eyes drifted to the floor and her voice dropped low, “If it were _my_ family, I doubt I would be much better.”

Asaaranda limped out of the war room, but not before shooting Cullen a plaintive look over her shoulder; he could see what she didn’t want to say for fear of tempting fate plain on her face.

_Please, bring them back to me._

* * *

For the first hour after she read the reports and Shokrakar’s letter, Asaaranda holed herself away in her quarters. She apparently spent the next hour tracking down Cassandra and weeping into the Seeker’s shoulder. The hour after that, she sat with Cole in the attic of Herald’s Rest and let the spirit help however he thought he could. But after that, not even Cole could tell Cullen where she’d gone.

It took him two full sweeps of the castle for the commander to finally realize where she was. Because she was in the absolute last place he expected.

As he doubled back through the garden, meaning to check her quarters again, Cullen noticed from the corner of his eye one of the alcoves off the garden casting a soft light across the stones. He walked slowly up to it and peered around the entrance. Asaaranda stood at the foot of the statue of Andraste with her back to him, the candles at her feet bathing her in a low, flickering light. 

For the first time, with her shoulders slumped and the statue beside her, Cullen thought that Asaaranda looked… small.

Suddenly, she murmured in a voice raw and ragged, “I told you that Hissra was around my age, but so were Sataa and Meraad.”

Cullen took at as his cue to approach, slowly walking to stand by her side in the tiny room. The harsh light made the lines on her face and the shadows beneath her eyes darker, the contrast more stark than ever. Her head had drooped down, as if it weighed a thousand pounds and keeping it upright just wasn’t worth the effort. Despite the darkness, he could see her eyes were bloodshot.

The young woman continued, “W-we had… w-we had to stick together. Our parents couldn’t always– c-couldn’t always look out for us. S-so we had to be there for each other. And it wasn’t like we had anyone else our age around… E-even when I wanted to, I could never… never get away from them.” She stopped and bit her lower lip, shutting her eyes tight. Cullen could see her choking down the sob, the tears she’d already cried too many of.

Her voice shuddered and shook as she spoke again, “B-but now… N-now they’re dead. They’re d-dead and I– I should have _been there_. I-I know I _know_ it wouldn’t have done anything, th-they probably would have– But I should have just. _Seen_ them. I-I always sort of thought we’d be stuck together until we died but they’re _dead_ and I’m _here_ miles away and– a-and–“

Cullen pulled her into his arms and she latched tightly on to him, one large hand burying itself in his hair while the other grabbed a fistful of his cloak. She pressed her face into the top of his head and he murmured soothing nonsense into her collarbone. He honestly wasn’t sure _what_ he was saying; but he had to say something, _anything_. She needed to hear him. Asaaranda wasn’t sobbing– likely, she didn’t have the energy for that anymore. But her breath hitched and caught and she clung to him tighter than life. He let her cling as long as she needed to.

She pulled back completely, and there were tear tracks on her face. Asaaranda murmured, “Cullen… I-Is there… s-some part of the Chant that you say for the dead? They– t-they weren’t Andrastian and they didn’t believe in the Qun, same for me, b-but I just– I just feel like I need to do s- _something_ for them I– s-since I couldn’t _be_ there–“

Cullen took her hands in his, and she immediately snapped her mouth shut. He paused, running a thumb over her knuckles and feeling her fingers tremble. Then, he opened his mouth and spoke the familiar words; she softly repeated every line, low enough only for her to hear.

_Draw your last breath, my friends,_  
_Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky._  
_Rest at the Maker’s right hand,  
_ _And be Forgiven._

* * *

Asaaranda couldn’t keep herself from hobbling a few paces behind Cullen as they came to the dock; in the past week, her mind had been as loud as it was the day of the Conclave, and right now it was telling her what a great place this would be for someone to murder her and not get caught. Or what a romantic spot this was for him to break up with her. Or that she was standing over water right now and didn’t know how to swim–

She forced herself to speak; “W-where exactly are we? All you said when asking me to come was Ferelden, s-so that doesn’t really…” And just as quickly, she forced herself to stop. She was better than this. She didn’t babble and stammer anymore. Well. Not as _much_ anymore.

Cullen just smiled over his shoulder; “You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from that, if only for a moment. And…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I hoped this could take your mind off of your family.”

Asaaranda sat on one of the posts holding up the dock and smiled, trying to think only good things about Cullen instead of how stupid she’d been for doubting him and how she’d nearly retched reading Shokrakar’s letter. It was only barely working. Damn it, she’d been getting _better_. She _was_ better. She could feel herself building up new calluses as she squeezed down on her staff.

Cullen leaned against the post opposite her; “I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet.”

_Focus on him, Asaaranda. Get out of your own damn head._

“Did you come here often?” she asked. _Idiot, what kind of fool thing is_ that _to say?!_

Cullen looked out at the lake with a soft but wry smile; “I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head. Of course, they always found me eventually.”

She remembered on reflex– _Hissra and Meraad are arguing about something. Again. Can they not talk any other way? I try to cover my ears as I read but Meraad always is determined to be the loudest thing around_ – and bit her own tongue to bring her back.

Asaaranda pulled her mouth into something she supposed you could call a smile if you were feeling generous; “You were happy here?” _Wow Asaaranda and the stupid questions continue, you’re absolutely hopeless._

He looked back over at her; “I was. I still am.”

Her stomach curled and twisted and the most tenacious voice of them all started scratching at the back of her head, claws digging in and gaining purchase for it to crawl up her throat. Something had to be wrong. Because something always was if you looked hard enough. What could ruin this? Ah, of course, _her_. Because she’s always the problem if she looks down deep enough. 

Asaaranda’s hands twisted on her staff as she mumbled, “Alone with a mage… Th-that doesn’t– That doesn’t concern you?”

Cullen didn’t take her meaning, instead just responding smoothly, “The templars have rules on… fraternization. But I’m no longer bound by them.”

She could have left it there. But something _had to be_ wrong.

The Vashoth blurted out, “I-I know but… You’ve seen the _worst_ mages have to offer. H-how– How do you not see that in me?”

Cullen’s smile fell and he pushed off the post to stand straight; “I don’t. If I’ve given you reason to doubt…” he sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, voice dropping to a mutter, “Of course I have.”

Her eyes went wide; she was ruining this. She _knew_ she was ruining this. On purpose. What the _fuck_ was she _doing?!_ What was wrong with her–?!

She pressed her face into her staff; “ _No_. No you haven’t. Y-you’ve been good– No. No, you’ve been perfect. I’m the problem. I-I just… I thought I was getting better about doubting myself and doubting everyone else and imagining the worst but– It’s been so much _harder_ lately. _Maker_ I’m back to where I was when this whole damn war started…”

The mage felt the commander’s hands slowly and gently taking hers, guiding her finger by finger into letting go of her staff. She gradually loosened her grip and handed the staff to him, but didn’t open her eyes; absently she heard him set it down flat on the dock, close enough that it wouldn’t be forgotten. One of his hands took hers as they hovered uselessly in the air. The other carded once through her hair before settling around the base of her horn. The Vashoth relaxed under that touch, leaning into it with a soft hum.

She blocked out everything but his voice; “You’re doing fine, Asaaranda. If anyone’s strong enough to make it through this, it’s you.”

Asaaranda smiled and opened her eyes as she murmured, “You’re too good to me, Kadan.”

He let out a small, soft laugh and remarked, “But, just to be safe…” He dropped something into her hands, and she pulled them back to inspect it. It was a small silver coin.

She blinked owlishly back over at him; “What is this?”

Cullen spoke before her mind could; “My brother gave it to me the last time I was here– the day I left for templar training. It just happened to be in his pocket but he said it was for luck,” he frowned slightly, “Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through.” She laughed through her nose as he rolled his eyes.

“For some reason I can’t quite picture you breaking the Order’s rules,” she giggled.

He smirked; “Until a year ago, I was very _good_ at following them. Most of the time,” the smirk lost its edge, “That was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn’t give me…”

He gently folded her hands around the coin; “We don’t know what you’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt.”

She held the coin close to her chest and whispered, “I’ll keep it safe.”

“Good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her jaw, “I know it’s foolish, but… I’m glad.” She tucked the coin away in her coat as she moved to catch his lips. Getting up and going through the day tomorrow would still be hard. But she remembered now that making the effort was worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

Cassandra remembered seeing Asaaranda walk out of the Fade at Haven. It wasn’t as impressive as the songs later told it to be. In point of fact, the Tal-Vashoth had more _stumbled_ out of the Fade; her foot had hit air where she expected land and that miscalculation lead her to fall, bounce off the cold stone ground and roll a few feet before coming to a halt.

When the Inquisitor, her companions, the Champion and the Warden had disappeared off the bridge and into the Fade, the Seeker had hoped in the back of her mind that any moment now a rift would open and the young woman would come spilling out like she had so many months ago. Instead, when the rift opened, Asaaranda leapt out and landed perfectly on her feet. She’d stood tall and closed it on the heels of her companions with one smooth sweep of her arm.

She spared the Wardens. Cassandra wouldn’t have done the same in her place, but she’d since learned to trust that the Inquisitor knew what she was doing.

The Seeker watched Asaaranda carefully after that. She floated through and around the commotion after the battle as if in a trance, calm and slow with her staff hanging limp at her side. The only person Cassandra saw the young woman speak to for longer than a moment was Cullen. But even when talking to him, her eyes seemed to stare just past him and off beyond the horizon. 

When the sun began to rise and the Inquisition finally began their long ride back home, Cassandra spurred her horse to walk even with the Inquisitor’s nuggalope. She rode silently beside the younger woman for a time, then remarked, “I can scarcely imagine what you saw in the Fade.”

Asaaranda’s voice came out in an absent, almost lilting tone; “There was a lot… Too much, really. But…” she suddenly looked over, eyes alight, “I _remember_ , Cassandra. I _remember_ what happened at the Temple.”

The Tal-Vashoth looked back to the long road ahead; “When we were attacked, I just ran blindly behind Hissra, desperately trying to get out and get to safety… But then I heard her. I didn’t know it was the Divine. I just heard someone calling for help…” her lips curved into a tiny smile, “And even though Hissra was telling me to hurry, I turned back around and ran back into the Temple.”

Cassandra stared with her mouth hanging slightly open for a moment, then smiled softly and murmured, “The Maker chose well.”

Asaaranda turned to her again, but this time with a huge, giddy grin, and laughed, “ _No_ Cassandra, he didn’t!”

Cassandra quirked a brow, smile falling; “What?” 

Asaaranda’s grin was wide enough to break her face in two; “Andraste didn’t, the Maker didn’t, Corypheus didn’t, _nobody_ chose me!”

Cassandra could only blink at the Inquisitor; “And that makes you… happy?”

“Yes,” she giggled, beaming bright against the sunrise, “ _I_ chose to go back for the Divine! _I_ chose to grab the orb and try and get it away from Corypheus! This whole time, I felt like I’d been thrown into this mess, like this was all some horrible twist of fate or chance. Like… maybe because I was a mistake, something would come in to correct it. But that’s wrong. Nobody put me here but me.”

Asaaranda smiled down at the ground; “I think I can do this.”

She took a deep breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth, and whispered straight ahead, “I’m right where I wanna be. I’m not anywhere else.”

Cassandra just watched Asaaranda, let her ride just those few paces ahead. She wasn’t sure if she believed the Maker had no hand in this. Wasn’t sure if she _could_ believe that. But her Inquisitor was riding tall and proud for once, and perhaps that was enough for now.

* * *

Asaaranda slipped into the tower as quietly as she could, not even shutting the door all the way for fear of making a noise, and tucked herself against the wall. Cullen hadn’t noticed her yet and neither had the soldiers. She was fine with that. It gave her a moment to watch the commander in his natural environment. The Vashoth gently folded her arms behind her back; her staff was back in her quarters. Ever since Adamant, it’d been easier to walk around Skyhold without it.

She smiled softly and listened to Cullen and the soldiers; “Rylen’s men will monitor the situation.”

“Yes, Ser. We’ll begin preparations at once.”

“In the meantime, we’ll send soldiers to–” and then he saw her. He paused and stared for only a moment, just long enough for Asaaranda to pull a hand out from behind her back and wave delicately at him. Several soldiers near the walls saluted her.

Cullen brought himself back, but spoke slowly and with the ghost of a smile on his lips, “… assist with the relief effort. That will be all.” Asaaranda nodded to all of the soldiers that passed her as they filed out of the room. The commander followed on their heels and shut the door, leaning on it with a heavy sigh.

“There’s always something _more_ , isn’t there?” he muttered.

The mage pushed off the wall; “Feel like escaping, Kadan?”

He chuckled under his breath; “I barely found time to get away before,” he stood up straight and walked back to his desk, “This war won’t last forever. When it started, I hadn’t considered much beyond our survival.”

Cullen stopped, then turned to look at her over his shoulder; “But things are different now.”

Asaaranda strode over to stand beside him, cocking her head to the side; “What do you mean?”

Cullen briefly looked away, considering what to say next, before turning back to her; “I find myself wondering what will happen after. When this is over, I…” he reached up to stroke her cheek, and she leaned down so he could, “I won’t want to move on… Not from you.”

Suddenly the commander’s face turned a mottled red and he brought his hand back, stammering, “B-but I don’t know what you– That is, _if_ you, ah–“

Asaaranda let out a laugh; “Haven’t we been in this exact situation before? Only _I_ was the one stammering and blushing?” Cullen gave her something she could construe as a smile before turning back to his desk.

She picked up his arm and slid in between him and the sturdy wooden desk, purring, “But honestly… Do you _really_ need to ask?”

Cullen’s hands immediately rested on her hips as he whispered, “I suppose not.”

“I want–“ The moment was quite literally broken as Asaaranda’s hand bumped into a bottle and knocked it to the ground. She had a feeling that she should be embarrassed, but all she could do was chuckle through her nose. But Cullen was staring… intently at the remains of the bottle. Her smile fell, and she was about to ask if something was wrong when Cullen swept everything else off onto the floor and immediately bore her down onto the desk, kissing her deeply and hungrily.

_Oh._

All the nerves fired back to life, and she threaded her hands through Cullen’s hair so she could more effectively pull him back and whisper breathlessly, “W-wait!”

Cullen’s eyes went wide; “I-I’m sorry I– If you don’t–“

She shook her head frantically; “No! I-I mean yes– I want to do this _Maker_ you don’t know how much I want to do this but. I-if we do it here like this my horns are gonna get stuck in your desk.”

Cullen grimaced with a soft, “Oh.”

Asaaranda bit her lip, then whispered, “A-and I-I’ve never done… _this_ before s-so–“ she looked him in the eye, “K-keep going but uh… slower, please?”

He laughed softly as he pressed a kiss into her neck, the vibration sending jolts of lightning up her spine; “Slowly, then.” 

* * *

A whimper woke the Inquisitor.

She blinked rapidly and squinted hard, even the pale light of the early morning too much for her eyes. But Asaaranda stayed silent, listening for the sound. After about a minute, it came again accompanied by a heel hitting her in the shin. She pursed her lips and propped herself up on one elbow to get a better look at Cullen (but not before carefully extracting her horn from the pillow; this was the last time she was ever sleeping on her side).

He wasn’t thrashing yet, just breathing heavier and faster, twitching and grasping at the thin sheets as his face contorted into a pained grimace and his teeth ground against each other. The Vashoth pushed herself all the way up, mind working frantically. She’d seen this done hundreds of times, she could do it. But she had to do it quickly.

In a few quick but tense motions Asaaranda had flipped Cullen onto his back, straddling his stomach and pinning his wrists level with his head. It was almost a perfect mirror of the previous night, except for Asaaranda’s tight frown and brows furrowed to make a deep, dark crease between them. She leaned down until most of her weight was on top of him, keeping him from squirming out of her grasp but making sure he could keep breathing. He still hadn’t woken, but he was growling, “ _Leave me._ ”

She lowered her mouth right next to his ear and whispered, “Cullen. _Cullen_. Wake up. _Wake up_ –”

He snapped awake with a sharp cry and Asaaranda had to press down harder to keep him from breaking her hold. She gritted her teeth and held through the thrashing– it didn’t last for very long. In moments, Cullen’s eyes were darting around as he truly woke up.

“Cullen,” Asaaranda said insistently, “Can you see me? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

He blinked up at her before slowly answering, “Y-yes… Yes, I do.”

The Inquisitor relaxed with a deep sigh and a strained smile; “Good.”

Before she could move off of Cullen, he stopped her with a hand on her hip; “How… Asaaranda, how did you know to do that?”

She let out a mirthless chuckle and asked, “Do you know the island ‘Seheron’?”

Cullen nodded, and she continued, “The Tevinters and the Qunari are still fighting over the island. Apparently, it’s devolved into some brutal stuff. My father and a lot more of our company fought there and… would go back there when they slept. I never had to, but my mother and the adults learned how to wake them up before they hurt anyone. I saw it enough to figure out what was happening.”

She brought a hand over to rest on his chest as she wondered, “So… How often do they come?”

He frowned and traced an old lavender burn with his thumb; “Most every night. Without lyrium they’re worse…” Cullen propped himself up on one elbow and met Asaaranda’s eyes, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

She shook her head, stroking his cheek with her marked hand; “I’m always going to worry about you, Kadan. Might as well come to terms with that.”

He chuckled and leaned into her touch with a wry smile; “Alright.” Cullen’s hand drifted up and threaded through her white hair, rubbing at her neck like he always rubbed his own. She let him guide her down until their foreheads were touching.

He sighed, “You are… I have never felt anything like this.”

Asaaranda’s voice was raw, unsure and shivering; “I love you… You know that, right?”

And Cullen’s smile was brilliant; “I love you, too.”

She giggled like she had on the battlements months ago and kissed him hard enough to make them both forget they had responsibilities. The Inquisition could wait another hour or so.

* * *

Apparently, the door hadn’t been locked as well as the Inquisitor and Commander had thought, and a poor soldier had walked through on patrol just as Asaaranda’s shirt had come off the previous night. Word spread  _very_ quickly. By morning, Cullen was a legend among the troops and Asaaranda was the envy of a good forty percent of the serving staff.

The two of them tried to take it in stride, until Asaaranda and Cullen were both asked by the combined force of Blackwall and Sera if Cullen had been large enough to satisfy the Inquisitor. Asaaranda had collapsed into a heap of embarrassed Vashoth while Cullen ran out of the tavern and couldn’t be found for an hour.


	12. Chapter 12

Cullen couldn’t remember the last time he’d truly knelt and prayed to the Maker. He had whispered prayers in desperation more times than he could count. He’d lead Asaaranda through the prayer for those she’d lost. But prayer like that wasn’t enough. Not for what was to come. So now, he knelt at the foot of Andraste’s effigy and spoke the words he could almost feel etched into his bones.

_Though all before me is shadow,  
_ _Yet shall the Maker be my guide.  
_ _I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.  
_ _For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light  
_ _And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

“A prayer for you?” Her voice and even steps on the stone drew him smoothly back out into the world. He looked over his shoulder to see her smiling down at him, hands hanging empty at her sides. Once, he would have thought her a looming and foreboding presence above him, like the peaks of the Frostback Mountains. Now, she was like the walls and towers of Skyhold; tall, stable, and safe.

He turned back to the candles; “For those we have lost. And those I am afraid to lose.”

Cullen could almost hear her cocking her head to the side, pin-straight hair flowing like water over her shoulder; “You’re afraid?”

The commander frowned; “Of course I am! Corypheus possessed that Grey Warden at Mythal. What more is he capable of?”

“It’s only a matter of time before he retaliates,” he continued, standing and looking up at her, “We must draw strength wherever we can.”

Whatever weight the prayer took from his shoulders settled back down as he walked to stand beside Asaaranda; “When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again…” his voice dropped near to a whisper, “Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him.”

Her smile was easier than he’d ever seen it as she said, “It’ll be a hard fight. But I think I’ve got at least one miracle left in me thanks to you.”

Cullen looked up at her with a faint smile; he remembered the woman he’d first seen on the field, who had loped into the Chantry behind Cassandra, who had hidden behind her hair and her staff on the training yard in Haven. He was tempted to think he didn’t recognize her as she stood tall, proud and smiling. But he knew that this is what had always been behind the horns and white hair, the staff and the slouch. This is what he had fallen in love with, and what he could lose.

He let out a mirthless chuckle; “I’d hoped luck would be enough, but…”

She closed the distance and drew him into her arms, her scarred cheek pressing into his hair. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into her shoulder, breathing in the soft scent of flowers and the sharp, clear tang of magic. Her left hand was in his hair; he could feel the anchor’s pulse, quick and skittish against his skull. Change wasn’t as quick as it seemed.

“Whatever happens, you _will_ come back,” Cullen murmured.

He feels her soft frown on the crown of his head, feel her voice lapse into a shiver; “Cullen, you don’t have to–“

He presses her as close to him as he can; “Allow me this. To believe anything else… I _can’t_ …”

She hummed low in her chest and brought her hand down to rub the back of his neck. She understood.

* * *

Asaaranda stares down the twisted creature, eyes burning like the sun. Her heart is beating in her ears and there’s a sharp pain in her leg but it’s far away, small enough to be pushed aside. She slams her staff into the stone. Veins of blue lightning crack the clouds. She calls the wind, the rain and the thunder, feels them sing in tune with her blood. Her song blares above the roars of the dragons and the demons, above the Elder One’s booming voice.

The would-be God sneers, “I know your true face, Qunari! You are nothing but an outcast, a rat fighting tooth and claw for a way out of the gutter!”

The anchor bursts into a brilliant green flare and the words tear her throat to tatters she screams, “I am what I chose to be! I am the thunder, I am the storm! I am Inquisitor Asaaranda Adaar and _I am not afraid of you!_ ”

* * *

Asaaranda came home slouching, limping, and leaning heavy on her staff.

Cullen took all of her in as she dragged herself up the stairs. Her right leg had been hastily bandaged and splinted– she kept her weight off it, favoring her left leg and her staff. Her hair was mussed and tangled, blood and dirt and soot marring her white locks. Her coat was covered in stains and tatters, there was a new chip in her left horn, and he could see a new scar in the making on her neck. Cole hovered at her side, waiting to catch her arm if she stumbled.

But her vermillion eyes were bright, and she was grinning.

She had pulled out one last miracle.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Cullen held himself back just long enough to bow alongside Leliana and Josephine. And that was just about as long as he could stand. He was in her arms in an instant, and she leaned into him with everything she had. She laughed into his hair, hoarse but happy; she pulled back all too soon with tear tracks on her cheeks. 

Asaaranda turned to the courtyard, and somehow her smile was even brighter as the cheering finally reached Cullen’s ears. She was theirs, now and always.

Which is why he could only bear to steal a moment of her time when the celebration began. But his eyes were squarely on her the whole night. She’d gotten a moment to rest and be properly tended to, and now flowed through her people like blood in the veins. She spoke, she laughed, and she embraced every single one of her Inner Circle– Cole and Dorian the longest, to the point where they had to push her off (or, more accurately, nudge her until she stopped on her own since they weren’t strong enough to really move her).

He felt it in his hand, heavier than it truly was. At the time, it had been a promise to himself that they would win and she would stand tall at the end. But now… Now, as she was finally ambling off towards her quarters, he needed to turn it into something more than that.

She nearly tripped when he stopped behind her and said, “You managed to slip away.” The Tal-Vashoth turned and beamed at him.

He closed the distance with a wolfish smirk; “I thought I might claim more of your attention after all.”

Despite everything, her giggle was the same effervescent sound as always; “Something on your mind, Commander?”

“Everything,” he murmured, smirk widening out into a grin. She blushed a deep taupe, and he thanked the Maker that would never change. He opened the door for her and followed her into her quarters, watching her walk. Her real limp was less dramatic, yet she looked even more unsteady on her feet, not yet sure how to dance to this new rhythm. Cullen knew he wouldn’t have to worry long– in time, this one too would heal.

They stopped in the middle of her quarters, and he turned to smile up at her; “Battle’s over, there will be a new Divine…” he shook his head, “Yet I don’t care about anything other than you being alive.”

She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder, laughing his name through a brilliant smile. She opened her mouth to speak again, but paused, then took his hand and guided him out to the balcony. For a moment, she just smiled out at the mountains. 

Then, she turned back to him and said, “Hold out your hand.”

With a brow slightly raised, he did. She reached into her pocket, then dropped something into his hand. It was the same silver coin he’d given to her by the lake. 

He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it; “I don’t think that thing’s used up its luck, but now that I’ve defeated an ancient blighted Magister, I think it’ll be a long time before I need another miracle,” she laughed, “I’d feel better knowing it was with you.”

Cullen stared at the coin for a moment before smiling and closing his hand around it; “Alright…” he tucked the coin away, and finally opened his other hand, “After all, there’s something else I think I’d like you to hold onto.”

Asaaranda opened her mouth, but he beat her to it as he brought his hand forward. He was holding a ring, simple and gold like they always were in Ferelden, but large enough that he had no problem sliding it onto her finger as she gaped down at him. He let her hand go so she could bring it up to her mouth, face flushing all the way up to the base of her horns and tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

He went to one knee as the sun rose above the valleys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my fanfic and I can end it on as syrupy a note as I want.
> 
> This probably won't be the last I write of Cullen and this particular Inquisitor. But this is the end of THIS story. Sorry to all those I let down, and thank you to everyone who stayed and enjoyed.


End file.
